


The Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee

by littlejeanniebean



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Domestic, Drama & Romance, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Murder Mystery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:28:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 73,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24540838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlejeanniebean/pseuds/littlejeanniebean
Summary: “Just sign there, Minister,” said the executive assistant.“Yes, I can see that, Spencer, but what I want to know is why Harry James Potter even applied.”“Well, I suppose it is less glamorous that becoming an auror like Weasley -”“No, no, not that! Doesn’t he know that he can literally just write his name - and nothing but his name - on any application for anything and it will be accepted?” Shacklebolt held up the said application that was there for his review, courtesy of Podmore, who’d vetted out the useless ones. “But he really went and wrote about the time he blew up his aunt for ‘When has the Committee acted in your life? What would you change about your experience and why?’ Merlin’s long and lustrous beard , Potter!”
Relationships: Angelina Johnson/George Weasley, Arthur Weasley/Molly Weasley, Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy & Blaise Zabini, Fleur Delacour/Bill Weasley, Hannah Abbott/Neville Longbottom, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter & Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Luna Lovegood/Rolf Scamander, Mary Cattermole/Reginald Cattermole
Comments: 60
Kudos: 81





	1. New Normal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pianistbynight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pianistbynight/gifts), [Solstilla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solstilla/gifts).



> Gifting this to pianistbynight, who always believes in me, and to Solstilla, who told me she needed this fic, so I basically *had* to deliver and I have no regrets!

“What do you mean you’re not going back to school?” A bushy-haired, olive-skinned girl crossed her arms.

She stared down a tall, ginger lad, who was able to look her levelly in the eyes, even reclined in one of his mother’s wooden dining chairs while the girl was standing, “Do you  _ honestly _ think they have anything left to teach us after what we’ve been through?”

“It’s more of the principle of the thing,” she muttered, gathering their letters off the table and handing him his.

A dark-haired boy clattered in from the yard with a fiery-haired, freckled girl, whom he was giving a piggy-back ride. Just above his round-rimmed glasses, he had a pink scar peeking out from under his sweat-soaked bangs and its color often darkened with exertion on his part, as it was then.

“Hogwarts letters are here, Harry, Ginny,” said the bushy-haired girl.

“Oh, yeah, I’d better write McGonagall back about… er, the other thing,” but the boy named Harry just stood stock still in the middle of the kitchen.

The freckled girl slid off his back and collected her letter, “Thanks, Hermione. Merlin, I wish I could get out early, same as you lot.”

“What other thing?” asked the ginger-haired lad, one of many brothers older than the girl named Ginny.

At the same time, the one called Hermione let out an exasperated groan, “Not you  _ too _ , Harry!”

Harry scratched the back of his head nervously, “Right, er… Ron: McGonagall… might’ve sent me a letter of recommendation…”

“Oh, yeah, I got one of those too,” the boy named Ron grinned, “Sent it on with my auror’s application yesterday.”

“Why does no one tell me  _ anything _ anymore?” Hermione pouted and plopped down into Ron’s lap, so he could give her one of his famous shoulder rubs.

“You know you can always ask, but otherwise, we don’t want to bother you, yeah?” her boyfriend soothed.

“Well, maybe I want to be bothered,” she said quietly. 

“Didn’t you get a letter from McGonagall too, Hermione?” asked Ginny.

The girl shook her head, tendrils of her newly cut hair brushing her shoulders, “Before we left for Australia I told her I’d like to come back to finish my final year.”

_ Australia _ had become almost a taboo sort of word. Only Hermione could say it, so only Hermione ever did.

“You boys really aren’t coming with me, then?” she looked at her long-time friends solemnly.

“Sorry, Hermione,” Harry said sincerely.

“You’ll have me, Mione,” Ginny offered.

Hermione smiled at the girl. 

“Oh, do you need some help with the auror’s application, Harry?” Ron asked, “Wizarding forms can be a real pain. They haven’t changed since the Victorian -”

“Um… yeah, here’s the thing,” the boy’s bright green eyes flitted to Ginny’s hazel ones. She gave him a nod of encouragement and he went on, “I don’t think I’m going to become an auror - right away, that is.” 

His friend stared at him in surprise, then started laughing, but when he saw no one else was, he stopped, “Oh, wait, you’re serious. Okay… but, I mean,  _ why _ ? You’re good at this sort of thing.”

“Not really, no… I just kind of… got sucked into it… so.”

“What are you going to do, then?” asked Hermione.

“Well, er, Puddlemere United is having tryouts in a week.”

“We’ve been training,” Ginny added.

“And you were going to tell us  _ when _ ?” Ron was only slightly upset, mostly he was excited - it couldn’t be helped when Quidditch was concerned, “We could have helped you train too! Well,  _ I  _ could have helped, Mione would have tried to talk you out of it -”

“Would not!”

“Would too.”

“Would - okay,  _ maybe _ , but I guess we’ll never know for sure, now, will we?”

“Pretty convenient, that.”

She pinched his arm lightly in retribution.

“Right, well,” Ginny took her boyfriend’s hand and led him upstairs, “Harry and I are going take a shower -”

“Please use a silencing charm this time,” Ron groaned, “There are some things you just can’t unhear…”

“Yeah, yeah,” his sister waved him off.

*****

In a quiet suburb in Muggle London, a large lilac tree quivered slightly as the air shifted to make way for two witches. One was middle-aged with ginger hair fading only slightly to gray and the other was Hermione Granger. 

They let themselves into the little bungalow where the Grangers lived. 

“Mum? Dad?” Hermione found them in the breakfast nook playing checkers while the telly played some American talk show or another.

“Oh, hello,” said her mum, “Hello, Molly.”

“Afternoon, dearie,” Molly watched the telly curiously and had a hard time focusing on anything else.

“How’ve you been?” Hermione asked them.

“Well, the practice has been slow to pick up since we left without so much as a warning,” said her dad, not looking up from the game board.

“We manage,” her mum assured her, “How’ve you been?”

“I’m going back to school in a week,” Hermione explained slowly, “Molly will come and check on you every so often and I’ll be back for the Christmas holidays -”

“You’re going back to that place?” her dad frowned.

“Oh, Wendell, you worry too much,” his wife tutted.

Hermione pursed her lips, “It… it’s Richard, Mum. Dad’s name… is Richard.”

“Oh…” Dr. Granger looked confused for a moment before realization slowly filled her face, “ _ Oh _ , of course, of  _ course _ , silly me.”

“Why must you always go back there?” Dr. Granger thumped the table firmly enough for the little checkered pieces to jiggle, “Every time, no matter how much danger it puts you in - puts your  _ family _ in -”

“Things are better, now, Dad. It was unavoidable in the past, but -”

“Nothing is inevitable unless you lie down and take it, Hermione Jean,” he snapped.

“I think it’s just about that time for treatment, hmm?” Molly bustled in and helped Hermione get her parents comfortable on the couch. 

Hermione stood behind them and leveled her wand at her dad’s head first, “ _ Obliviate contrarisium _ .”

He slumped forward slightly in a daze and Molly nudged him back into the cushions.

Then Hermione stood behind her mum, “ _ Obliviate contrarisium _ .”

Dr. Granger reclined gracefully and even closed her eyes.

It took a bit for them to regain their senses and then they were very tired, which was good, because it was often in dreams that the links between their memories were restored. So Hermione and Molly helped them upstairs and tucked them in like two little children.

The witches left the house and locked the front door behind them. They stepped back behind the lilac tree.

“Are you ready to go, dearie?” Molly asked kindly.

“Can you do it, please?” the girl whispered, a single tear running down her nose, “I don’t think I can.”

The matriarch looped their arms together warmly and apparated them back to the Burrow, back home.

With a flick of her wand, she put the kettle on.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I shouldn’t have wiped their memories. I was too… too emotionally involved that I… I think I messed up -”

“Nonsense. You read the same healer’s guide I did. There are always relapses and mood swings -”

“But the treatment should have remedied most of it within the first six weeks!”

“Every patient is different, love. And let’s not forget that those guides were made for healers dealing with magical patients.”

Hermione shook her head and laid it face down on the kitchen counter, “I can’t give this up, my magic... I  _ can’t _ . Not even for my own bloody parents.”

“He didn’t mean to ask that of you, you know. He’s worried about his little girl going out into this strange world, but you know what the scariest thought for a parent is?”

“What?” the girl sniffed.

“Knowing that their child is ready to leave the nest and maybe even knows more about some things than they do, so all they can do is watch. Some resent it at first, some deny it, but I have a feeling - a very strong one - that they are already very proud of you for standing your ground and protecting the people you love.”

Hermione squeezed the woman’s hand affectionately, “Thank you, Molly.”

*****

“Hey, you’re up early,” Ron fought with the high collar of his new ministry-issue auror’s cloak.

“So are you,” Hermione batted his hands away and fixed it for him, “When did you know you’d been accepted?”

“Poor Pig flew into my window at three in the morning. Got lost over Manchester if that funny little tracker thing you’ve put on him is right. They’re ridiculously short staffed, apparently, after they had to imprison all the Death Eaters and they can’t bring back the old guard because… well…” he felt it needn’t be said, they were all dead, most of them anyway.

“It’s a good thing you’re going, then.”

“I suppose… though if anyone ought to finish school before joining the auror’s department, it’s me, innit?”

His girlfriend looked up at him quizzically, “What do you mean?”

“Oh, you know, ol’ Ronald Weasley. Doesn’t know the right end of his wand from the wrong.”

“Rubbish,” Hermione wrinkled her nose the way she did whenever she dismissed an outlandish idea outright, “You’re one of the best strategists I know, cool under pressure, and good with people. That’s more than half the ministry can say. So chin up, eyes open, and listen to your instincts. Anyone you’re up against won’t know what hit them.”

He stared at her, amazed. “That was a brilliant pep-talk. You’ve come a long way from don’t-die-or-worse-get-expelled.”

“Are you never going to let me live that down?”

“Never,” he kissed her cheek, but she grabbed him by the collar and pulled him in for a real kiss. 

Ron backed into the fireplace, a goofy smile on his face. The wizard bumped his head on the mantle, but didn’t care much as he grabbed a handful of floo powder and spoke clearly, “Ministry of Magic!”

When the soot and smoke cleared, he stepped out into the throng of witches and wizards walking the large rotunda around the Fountain of Magical Brethren.

“Equal rights for all magical creatures! We deserve a seat at the table! A place in the ministry!” a couple of freed house elves called from the edge of the fountain, handing out enchanted buttons and pamphlets.

“Hello,” said Ron, taking a button and pamphlet to give to Hermione, “What are your names?”

“I’m Retly, good sir!” said the youngest elf, “These are my siblings, Huppy, Besamy, and Duke -” he leaned in conspiratorially, “his real name is Ducky, but he doesn’t like to be called -”

“Retly, just hand the buttons out, yeah?” barked Duke, who was the oldest if his wrinkles were anything to go by.

“Well, I don’t know much about law myself,” Ron pinned the button to his cloak, “but I’m happy to help spread the word.”

“Thank you, kind sir!” Retly gave him his best, toothless smile.

Ron found his way to the auror’s office easily, being accustomed to navigating “weird wizarding architectural choices” as Harry called them. He’d never really paid attention before, but he became conscious of the patterns so he could explain it Harry in third year: Fibonnaci, the old Italian wizard who specialized in Arithmancy and the Muggle study called “methamantics.” All the wizard buildings were lousy with it until they got bored and started doing it in reverse or started skipping numbers, or what have you. Harry didn’t understand Fibonnaci like Hermione did, though, so he still got lost whenever they went to Diagon Alley. 

“You must be Weasley,” a scruffy man barely out of his twenties strode towards him quickly, a cup of coffee under a stasis spell in his hand so it wouldn’t slosh all over the place, “I’m Felix Bardin, Head of the Auror Division. You’re the first one here, actually, so… I don’t know, try not to get in anyone’s way for fifteen minutes?” 

“I can do that, sir,” Ron looked at the notices hovering in a cluster together at one end of the room. 

There were still Death Eaters on the run, most trying to get into Bulgaria or America, but it was the international aurors who were actively hunting them, like Charlie was for a minute. The rest of them just had to call in sightings and aid in the occasional capture. There were quite a few notices out for your regular sort of criminals: robbers, arsonists, embezzlers, illegal potioneers, and juvenile delinquents who thought it would be fun to charm a bed on the Knight Bus to suffocate whoever decided to sleep in it. 

“Ron?” a voice that was both familiar and unfamiliar drew his attention to the spot beside him.

“... Patil?”

“Padma,” grinned the dark-skinned girl with a long braid down the back of her cloak, “It’s so good to see you!”

“Yeah,” he hadn’t spoken to or paid much attention to her since the disaster that was the Yule Ball in his fourth year. Actually, he hadn’t even paid much attention to her then, come to think of it. “How have you been?”

“Oh, you know, in and out of it… We spent some time with family in India over the summer… How about you?”

“Alright… Went to, er, Australia, for a bit…”

“Seems everyone needed to just… get out for a bit, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Looks like nothing’s changed here, though.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” he tapped the Equal Rights badge on his cloak.

“Those poor things in the atrium? The RACOM-C was forcing them out just as I floo’ed in…”

Ron’s face turned a livid red, “Bloody dickheads - excuse me -”

“No, I agree,” she told him fiercely, then chuckled, “Do you remember Hermione’s knitting club in… what was it, fifth year?”

“Fourth,” he grinned as well.

“Ah, well, of course you’d remember,” she fiddled with the long sleeve of her auror’s cloak, “Anyway, I guess I’ll be seeing you around, fellow rookie.”

“Yeah. Hey, it’s my own fault for not keeping up with everyone, but d’y’know anyone else from the old D.A. who’s signed up?”

“Oh, I dunno either actually. I know Pavarti hasn’t, nor Cho, nor Marietta…”

“Pavarti’s not?”

“No, she’s gone to work for  _ Witch Weekly _ ,” Padma’s face contorted into such a look of revulsion that Ron barked out a laugh.

“Alright, rookies and old dogs, gather ‘round!” Bardin walked up to the hovering notices.

Ron and Padma backed up into the small crowd. 

“First things first, your training master assignments: Terry Boot, you’re with Alicia Spinnet; Padma Patil, you’re with Katie Bell; Ronald Weasley, you’re with Angelina Johnson.”

Their training masters were all detectives, as could be seen from their navy blue robes. 

“Oi, Bardin, why is it that we, girls, have to babysit?” Angelina barked, not antagonistically, merely pointing out a fact.

Her former fellow chasers murmured in agreement.

“Well, if you’d rather work one of the beats, it would make no difference to me, but I choose the aurors from whom these rookies would learn the most and you ladies know you put the boys to shame on the daily.”

“Then I call the Knight Bus case,” said Alicia, “for the rookie.”

The aforementioned boys groaned - everyone wanted that case, since it was the least likely to put you straight to sleep.

“Very well,” Bardin swept the notice off the board and into her hands with a flick of his wand.

“The black market potioneer who blew his chimney up, please,” said Katie Bell.

“Alright,” Bardin gave it to her.

“Oh, come on, Bardin!” said an auror named Williamson. He was on the tac team if his scarlet shield cloak was anything to go by, so Ron hadn’t the faintest idea why he would be invested in the dispute.

“Johnson,” the department head ignored him and turned to Angelina, “What’ll it be?”

Just then, a paper bird flew in, singing a sad, mourning song. It was light pink like the other notices had been.

The witches and wizards removed their tall, pointed hats if they were wearing them - most of the younger ones weren’t as it was sort of out of fashion. 

“That one, sir,” said Angelina, summoning it to herself. 

“Right,” Bardin continued to hand out the day’s assignments, get progress reports from those already in the middle of other cases, and then he dismissed them.

“Hi, Angelina,” Ron came up to her and shook her hand awkwardly. She had been more of the twins’ friend - Fred’s friend - than his. 

“Hi, Ron,” she had already read the notice and passed it on to him, “Beatrice Zabini was found dead in her home.”

“Are we sure all of her ex’s are well and truly dead?” he quipped.

“Oh, positive,” the detective chuckled, leading the way to the file room, “Only way she can claim their fortunes.”

The file room reminded Ron of the Department of Mysteries, except it smelled like a library. 

Angelina touched the tip of her wand to the notice and said, “ _ Invenietus _ .”

Like a flock of ravenous crows, several folders zoomed out of the file cabinets that surrounded them. Ron swallowed his reflexes that said to parry them away and instead cast one of those organizing spells his mother was always using. Angelina then banished the papers to her desk ahead of them.

“Study them well,” she told him and took a folder from the pile herself, “We want to be prepared to hit the ground running when we go to her beach house.”

Ron was not looking forward to that much reading on the job, but he bit the mullet, or whatever the Muggle saying was, and buried his nose in a file. 

*****

Harry apparated back to the Burrow soggy, muddy, and in a temper to rival his girlfriend’s.

At that moment, said girlfriend floo’ed in from Diagon Alley with Hermione, who bought at least twice the number of books that were actually listed among her school supplies.

“Didn’t go well?” she banished his Firebolt to the shed and gave him a good  _ Scourgify _ . 

“No, I got a contract,” he said, throwing the smudged and creased parchment on the table.

Hermione was about to hug him in congratulations, “Harry, that’s -”

“But you need a moment to think about it,” Ginny finished for him.

“Yeah,” he smiled, gratefully. Maybe nothing was wrong with him after all if someone as level-headed as Ginny understood, right? Right. “I think I’ll… er… go into town,” he meant the Muggle town near their home, Ottery St. Catchpole, “buy a box of treacle tarts or something. D’you lot need anything?”

“Oh, no, we’re all set,” Ginny banished their shopping up to her room, which she was sharing with Hermione, “Actually, yes, one of those Muggle button boxes if you happen to see one. Dad lost his again and Mum swears she didn’t take it, but he can’t seem to summon it from anywhere, so -”

“Oh! You mean a remote!” Harry realized with a laugh, “For the telly!” 

Mr. Weasley hadn’t actually gotten the telly working in a house full of magic that interfered with the antenna signal, but he wouldn’t give it up.

“That’s it!” Ginny beamed, kissing him goodbye before he apparated away again. 

“You  _ know _ it’s called a remote,” Hermione accused.

“But  _ he _ needn’t,” the redheaded witch snickered, “It positively  _ endears _ him to me whenever I need his help with a Muggle thing.”

Harry wandered around the farmer’s market for a bit, box of treacle tarts under his arm and a T.V. remote in a plastic bag he’d gotten from the thrift shop. He would have gone to a proper electronics store, but he didn’t have that much Muggle money on him and he didn’t want to go to Gringotts to make the exchange and be seen by people and Goblins and have to be  _ Harry Potter _ . He’d make it up to Ginny and Mr. Weasley later.

Many times over the summer, especially when they’d been staying in Muggle Australia while Hermione’s parents grew well enough to fly back in a plane, he’d considered just disappearing himself. Maybe he’d go to a Muggle university, but then he remembered he didn’t have the Muggle credentials. Then he thought he’d take courses online, but he was rubbish with technology because he’d never had the opportunity like Dudley. Besides, everyone he loved was in the wizarding world and Harry did love magic still, even after he’d seen all that it could do. Perhaps he ought to apply to be an auror like Ron, but he felt rotten asking them to make an exception to the hard cutoff deadline, which they would because, once again, he was  _ Harry Bloody Potter _ .

He played shoddily at tryouts, he knew that. It wasn’t like when he trained against Ginny, whose banter and whip-sharp turns kept him on his toes, while keeping his heart light. He didn’t deserve to be drafted by the oldest, most prestigious team in the league, but more importantly, he didn’t want it. He didn’t really want anything except to babysit Teddy whenever he was acting up too conspicuously in Andromeda’s daycare, fly in the Weasley’s pitch with Ginny, talk Muggle technology with Arthur, and help Molly cook and bake. Summer was ending, though, and he, like everyone else, had to find a way to move on.

When he decided to head back to the Burrow because he was hungry again and didn’t want to “accidentally” finish all the tarts himself, the boy coached his face into an expression of vacant aloofness, modelled after his good friend, Luna Lovegood. He did not want to appear  _ too _ deep in thought, because one thing he did know for certain was that he absolutely did  _ not _ want to go back to school with Hermione. If he had to write one more essay - fifteen inches, no larger than half-inch lines, one-inch margins, no spaces, using both sides of the parchment - he might as well check himself into St. Mungo’s Janus Thickey ward next to Gilderoy Lockhart.

*****

“Let me do the talking,” Angelina instructed when they apparated onto Beatrice Zabini’s doorstep. 

It was a nice, quiet place not too far from an expensive Muggle resort. The air smelled of seaweed and was filled with the sounds of waves crashing onto rocks.

Ron was content to observe. He found it odd that the house had a doorbell - a Muggle contraption used to announce one’s arrival instead of a sonorous charm or enchanted knocker or something.

“About bloody time,” Blaise Zabini answered the door. He was dressed impeccably in a festive purple for a son supposedly grieving.

“Aurors Johnson and Weasley,” Angelina’s face betrayed no emotion, “May we enter?”

“Yeah, but make it quick, alright? I’m supposed to be in Italy by six.”

“What’s the occasion?” the detective asked him, looking for any physical markers of forced entry before casting a diagnostic spell on the house’s wards.

“You’re wasting your time,” Zabini rolled his eyes, “I checked them myself, first I got here.”

“You didn’t answer her question,” Ron pointed out.

“Mother had business there,” he shrugged, “I have to go straighten things out now that she’s gone.”

“Take over, you mean,” Angelina casually moved her inspection through the main foyer and into the sitting room.

“Look, I didn’t kill her. I  _ warned _ her not to live out here, so far away from the magical community. It was some filthy mudblood -”

“Watch your mouth,” Ron gripped his wand more tightly in his hand.

“Oh, that’s right, you’re shagging one of the bints, aren’t you?”

In a flash, the tip of the trainee’s wand was at the suspect’s throat.

“ _ Weasley _ !” Angelina snapped, “Take over for me. I want every nook and cranny inspected.”

“Yeah, Auror Johnson,” Zabini made a show of massaging his neck, “You better keep this one on a tight leash.”

With a final scowl at the boy, Ron recited the spell his training master had cast and swept it about the room. Besides the usual household enchantments he was familiar with from his own home, there was nothing. “I’m moving upstairs.”

“Don’t touch the body when you find it!” Angelina warned.

“She’s in the bedroom,” Zabini mumbled.

“She’s in the bedroom!” she relayed.

“Bloody hell,” Ron had seen dead bodies before, but it wasn’t the sort of thing one got used to, “Found her!”

Beatrice Zabini was dressed to go out to a party, but instead she lay face down on the bed, which looked as though it had sustained quite the struggle. There was still no trace of magic, not even dark magic and unforgivables. She was stabbed with an ordinary pocket knife - the kind you saw in the Muggle hunting stores - straight in back of her throat. Her wand wasn’t on the night stand. When the auror crouched down, he found it had rolled underneath the bed, out of her reach. 

“ _ Hannah Abbott from St. Mungo’s to examine the deceased _ !” a voice called from outside the beach house.

“Ron Weasley is upstairs,” Angelina let her in, “He’ll show you where the body is.”

The blonde healer-in-training went upstairs and called, “Ron Weasley?” 

“Yeah, hi, Hannah. She’s just in here,” Ron left the bedroom door open for her, “I have to sweep the rest of the upstairs, but holler if you need anything.”

“Alright - hey, it… it’s good to see you. I didn’t know you and your family had left ‘till you’d gone and… well, I didn’t know you were back.”

“You too. Sorry, I thought my mum had told all her friends, who’d tell their families and… well… I guess none of us were much in the talking mood.”

“Yeah… alright, then.”

The auror nodded and continued his work. Hannah agreed that the killer had used Muggle means, but that didn’t mean he  _ was _ a Muggle. Angelina let Zabini floo to Italy after his alibi checked out with the Malfoys, Greengrasses, and Parkinsons, who were all at the same party at the Greengrasses’. 

“I wouldn’t trust them as far as I could throw them,” Hannah crossed her arms, “Are they even allowed to gather in that large of a group anymore?”

“He’s coming to the ministry for  _ Veritaserum _ tomorrow afternoon,” said Angelina, “It’ll take about that long for Bardin to get a Warlock to sign off on it anyway.”

“I read the financials, though,” said Ron, “He was earning loads without having to lift a finger and his expenses are the bare minimum. He doesn’t have the strongest motive, even if he is a little shithead.”

Hannah pursed her lips, “But if he  _ is _ the murderer -”

“Then the Italian ministry will send him back nicely gift-wrapped for us,” said Angelina in a way that meant the discussion was over, “Thank you, Hannah.”

The blonde witch apparated away. 

“How in Godric’s name did she get sorted into Hufflepuff?” she shook her head, “Alright, go home, Weasley. We’ll start retracing Beatrice Zabini’s footsteps tomorrow. Apparently, she was invited to that party at the Greengrasses’, but she said she’d already made other plans.”

“Which were?”

“Her son claimed not to know.”

“My brother Percy works in Transportation. I can ask him if he knows something.”

“Yeah, you do that.”

“Hey, I know we never talked much, but… any friend of my siblings’ is a friend of mine. You’re welcome to the Burrow any -”

“Thanks,” she cut him off, “I… thanks. Good work today, Rookie,” and with that, she apparated away.

*****

The Weasley house was full to bursting at dinner time. Percy was home, Bill and a pregnant Fleur floo’ed over from Shell Cottage, and even the wanderlusting Charlie was home and helping George making Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes dragon-hide free. 

Ron floo’ed in just behind Fleur and Mr. Weasley floo’ed in behind him, knocking him into the veela.

“Sorry! Sorry!” he helped Bill catch her arms, an unnecessary action on both counts since Fleur was hardly a frail witch despite her slim figure, “The baby’s alright?”

“Zhee ees juice fine, Roon,” she promised him.

“Harry! Ginny!” Hermione opened the screen door to yell, “Come on! Everyone’s here!”

“‘Ello,” Ron snuck up behind her, making her screech before she realized it was him.

“Oh! How was your first day?”

He showed her the pamphlet first, then told her about the RACOM-C kicking them out of the ministry right at the Fountain of Magical Brethren.

“That’s not right!” Hermione seethed, flipping through the pamphlet furiously, “They’ve rented an office next to St. Mungo’s, it says here. I’ll pay them a visit tomorrow!”

“You’ll want to speak to Retly or Ducky or Huppy or… Besamy!” he snapped his fingers as he remembered the last elf’s name, “They were the elves who were at the ministry today.”

Hermione nodded enthusiastically and began to tell him about the magical law book series she’d bought at Flourish and Blotts that day as Harry and Ginny stomped in from degnoming the garden. 

“Oh, you forgot this, Harry,” Mrs. Weasley handed the boy the contract he had left on her kitchen counter, “We’re so proud of you, dear.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Weasley,” he said and actually read the contract for the first time since he’d gotten it. Seeing ‘three years’ in writing made him stiff with hesitation, so he banished it to Ron’s room, which he was sharing. “Treacle tart, anyone?”

“Not before - oh, you got the ones with raisins and powdered sugar!” Mrs. Weasley helped herself and looked around the table at her family, judging her, “Oh, once in a blue moon never hurt anybody!”

“Can we see your purple robes, Harry?” Ron asked, tucking into the tarts as well. 

“Er… I haven’t actually signed on yet.”

“ _ Really _ ?  _ Wha _ -” he proceeded to choke in his tart because Ginny elbowed him in the gut.

Harry scratched the back of his neck, “I just -”

A ball of brown feathers hurtled in through the window and landed in the tarts, saving him from having to explain the reason behind his hesitation, or the seeming lack thereof.

“ _ Pigwidgeon _ !” everyone else groaned. 

“Come here, you poor thing,” Mrs. Weasley picked him up and cleaned him off while Mr. Weasley picked up the thick wad of mail the small owl had been made to carry.

“Ooh, my copy of  _ Witch Weekly _ is here!” Ginny scooped it up, “Pavarti Patil has her first article in here somewhere, you know!”

“Dibs on  _ Transfiguration Today _ !” Hermione and Percy and Bill said in unison and proceeded to rock-parchment-dagger over it. 

“ _ The Quibbler _ , anyone?” Mr. Weasley held it up.

“Oh, that’s mine,” Harry reached over and read about Luna Lovegood’s summer internship in Antarctica with Rolf Scamander.

“What’s the rest of it, Dad?” Ron asked, idly picking up tart crumbs off the table and eating them.

“Oh, it’s from the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee!” he passed the identical letters around excitedly.

“I thought they shut that down,” Percy had lost rock-parchment-dagger, but Hermione and Bill were still playing.

“They did, but Shacklebolt’s reinstating it,” Mr. Weasley read out loud, “He’s calling for anyone who’s interested to apply.”

“Who  _ would _ be interested in becoming a paper pusher?” George shook his head in disbelief, “No offence, Percy.”

“Oh, was that supposed to be an insult?” he’d gotten quite good at playful banter after lots of practice with George.

“It’s more than pushing papers, boys!” Mr. Weasley insisted, “You need to respond to calls on the  _ spot _ !  _ Intercept _ the Muggle aurors! You need to think  _ on your feet _ to explain it away or maybe you’re the one trying to get it out of the Muggles’ sight as  _ quickly _ as you can! Then on one end, there are the Muggles who just don’t give up and  _ really _ believe magic is real and on the other you’ve got the witches and wizards who  _ violate _ the Statute of Secrecy, sometimes on  _ purpose _ ! It’s the committee’s job to keep the Muggles  _ safe _ from dark wizards and cursed objects because unless there’s a war going on, no one else seems to  _ care _ !”

“That’s nice, dear,” said Mrs. Weasley with a cleaner, but still very tired Pigwidgeon sitting on her shoulder.

“Oh, bugger all!” Bill lost finally after Hermione bluffed a dagger, when she had, in fact, a parchment. 

The witch gleefully flipped past the beautification ads to find the latest article by Headmistress McGonagall.

“Oh, hey, Perce,” Ron spoke up, “Can you check into the movements of Beatrice Zabini for me? Auror business.”

“Yeah, sure. I read about her dying in  _ the Daily Prophet _ , didn’t say it was murder though.”

“And I think we’d like to keep it that way.”

“I’ll see what I can find without raising any red flags.”

Harry looked at his ministry committee letter curiously. He put down  _ The Quibbler _ , broke the letter’s seal and read it. The job description was just like Mr. Weasley said. Harry put it in between the pages of the magazine and left it there until the meal was over. Then he took it upstairs with him, filled out the application, and sent it off with McGonagall’s letter before writing to thank his former professor for her recommendation. 

*****

_ Dear Mr. H. Potter, _

_ I am pleased to inform you that your application to join the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee has been accepted. This is a full-time, paid position with the Ministry of Magic and as a ministry employee, you will be expected to follow the Code of Conduct detailed below. Please also see the recommended reading list that will provide you with the various contexts under which we’ve operated intermittently throughout wizarding history.  _

_ At 10:00am sharp, you will report to Jeremia Podmore at the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes (Level 3) on September 1st, which is still one of the busiest days for accidental revelations of magic. Thank you for helping provide an essential service to your wizarding community. _

_ Sincerely, _

  
  


_ Kingsley Shacklebolt _

_ Minister of Magic (U.K.) _

“Just sign there, Minister,” said the executive assistant.

“Yes, I can see that, Spencer, but what I want to know is why Harry James Potter even applied.”

“Well, I suppose it  _ is _ less glamorous that becoming an auror like Weasley -”

“No, no, not that! Doesn’t he know that he can  _ literally _ just write his name - and nothing  _ but _ his name - on  _ any _ application for  _ anything _ and it will be accepted?” Shacklebolt held up the said application that was there for his review, courtesy of Podmore, who’d vetted out the useless ones. “But he  _ really _ went and wrote about the time he blew up his aunt for ‘When has the Committee acted in your life? What would you change about your experience and why?’ Merlin’s long and lustrous  _ beard _ , Potter!”

“Indeed, Minister,” said Spencer.

With a well-I-never sort of smile playing on his lips, Shacklebolt signed and passed it to the first of a long line of mail owls in his office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think in the comments or on Tumblr [@littlejeanniebean](https://littlejeanniebean.tumblr.com/)! :)


	2. Magical Brethren

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fighting for the rights of house elves, talking to wise old ladies, and the magical brethren trifecta that is Hagrid, Luna, and Rolf Scamander.

Hermione and Ginny apparated into an empty phone booth that was always locked in a way that no Muggle could unlock. 

The redheaded witch touched her wand to the glass panes in a seven-pane pattern and the door opened with a lazy creak. From there, it was a nip and a bop across the street and around the corner to St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. There were many wizarding establishments in the neighborhood, and all except the long-closed-down department store that stood in place of the hospital actually had Muggle front-shops. 

One of the mannequins subtly turned its head, it’s plastic gaze following them as they walked to a small building still under construction next door. They rapped the rusted knocker and a pair of large green eyes peered up at them through the mail slot.

“Hello, we’re looking for Retly, Duke, Huppy, or Besamy,” said Hermione.

“Who’s we?” asked a stern, squeaky voice.

“I’m Hermione Granger, this is my friend, Ginerva Weasley.”

A brief spark of recognition filled those big eyes and the mail slot slapped shut before the door opened just wide enough for the two girls to slip in sideways, one after the other. 

“My name is Nee. Wait here!” said the elf before snapping her fingers and disappearing from sight. 

The building wasn’t that large on the inside either, but it was densely packed and raucous with print machines, sewing machines, and newly freed elves being fitted for new clothes and being taught proper grammar.

When Nee reappeared, it was with a much younger elf, who enthusiastically introduced himself as Retly. “Welcome, esteemed Miss Granger and Weasley, who fought on our behalf before we could do it ourselves!”

“Oh, uh, that was all Hermione, actually,” Ginny knelt down to shake his hand after her bushy-haired friend. 

“We heard RACOM-C kicked you out of the ministry yesterday,” said Hermione.

“They said we were loitering but we were  _ not _ !” Retly’s big, floppy ears quivered as he spoke, “We  _ had  _ purpose, they’d just rather not see it! They have no respect for elves after being served by us for years and years!”

“We’d like to offer our help, if we may,” Hermione reached into her drawstring bag and brought out  _ The Big Book of Gobbledegook _ , “If you can speak to the goblins in their own language, their high priestess will grant you the opportunity to negotiate with them. I read about it in  _ Getting Good with Goblins _ . If you have the cooperation of other magical creatures, it gives you more leverage.”

“Especially with the goblins practically running the wizarding economy,” added Ginny, “but even then, they have to fight tooth and nail to have laws passed in their favour, to even own the land on which Gringotts sits, which could all change if they’re given a seat at the table - more than the cruddy Goblin Liaison Office gives. So you show them you want the same thing.”

“Oh, thank you!” Retly handled the book with such care it brought tears to Hermione’s eyes, “We, elves, learn  _ very _ fast, yes! We learn  _ very _ fast to avoid our masters bootheels, and now we march forward on our  _ own _ bootheels, yes! Thank you!”

He disappeared straight away, only to pop back into place, “Nee!”

Nee disappeared from behind a printing press that wasn’t working for some unknown reason and appeared beside him, the tip of her nose and tips of her fingers black with ink.

“This is Nee, she’s one of the originals freed by Dobby during the war.”

“Hello,” said the female elf with a slight bow, which the girls returned.

“Nee has been learning magical law. Would it be alright if she showed you the case we’re building?”

“And tell me what you think?” Nee added shyly.

“Of course,” said Hermione eagerly and Nee summoned a roll of parchment, which when unfurled was at least fifty feet long. 

“I’ll see about that printing press,” Ginny was determined to make herself useful, but not so determined that she’d read fifty feet of legal jargon in the dimly lit, jarringly loud, half-constructed building. 

*****

“She floos straight into the Leaky Cauldron every other evening at half-past nine,” Percy told him at lunch, “Other than that she doesn’t seem to use the public network much at all, except to go to Diagon Alley.”

“Which shops?”

“Always floos directly into Twilfitt & Tatting’s once a month, not on any usual day, mind you.”

“Thanks, Perce,” Ron stood to find Angelina, who had some paperwork to finish on a case she closed just before his first day.

“Wait a second -” Percy licked his thumb and wiped a smudge off his brother’s nose.

“Oi, think you’re Mum again, do you?” he batted him away.

“If an auror can’t even keep himself clean, how can he be expected to uphold the law?”

“He’s Mad-Eye Moody.”

“... Alright, get lost, I got work to do!” Percy huffed and straightened his own robes unnecessarily before strutting away.

Ron went back down to Level 2 to relay the information to Angelina.

“Brilliant work, Weasley!” she beamed, definitively shutting a black folder - a closed case, the ministry really loved to colour-code everything, “I say we split up so we can be back in time for our appointment with Zabini. I’ll take Diagon, you take Leaky?”

The partners agreed and floo’ed to their respective destinations.

It was always a bit of an adjustment for one’s eyes when stepping into the Leaky Cauldron. In the large room, there were only five candles floating six inches down from the ceiling, one at the top of the stairs that you could just make out the glow of, and one small candle on each of the tables that customers could light themselves when they sat down. 

Ron wondered how the bar man - not Old Tom, surprisingly - could see what he was doing, before he realized he wasn’t doing much at all, he was reading a book about the medicinal properties of Muggle plants and how they could be enhanced by magic.

“Excuse me, sir,” said the auror.

The bar man looked up and even in the dimness, his round face, prominently front-toothed smile, and dirty blond hair could not be mistaken.

“Bloody hell, Neville!” he exclaimed, “What in Merlin’s name are you doing here?”

“Good to see you, Ron!” the boy beamed, “I own the place. Old Tom’s gone into retirement - well, he  _ says _ he has and that’s why he sold it to me, but he went to Japan and got bored, came back and started working again, but insisted I keep it, then he managed to stay in Spain for a longer spell, but  _ still _ eventually got bored, came back, and - well, he’s gone to Hawaii now, but I imagine he’s telling some poor pool boy his coconut margarita just isn’t right and insisting that he make it himself.”

The redhead was laughing when he took a seat at the bar, “Look, I... wish this was a social call, but I’m with the Auror Division now… Do you recognize this woman?”

“ _ Lumos _ ,” Neville’s eyes narrowed at the picture of Beatrice Zabini, “No, and I’d remember if I did because I’d’ve told her to get a drink somewhere else.”

Ron nodded in understanding, “You said Old Tom’s gone to Hawaii?”

“Yesterday. I think he left a forwarding address through TerrorTours?”

The auror wasn’t satisfied with waiting for a response from overseas, so he asked, “Any regulars who might know a thing or two?”

“Doris? Doris Crockford?” Neville called out to the old lady who sat alone, guiding some knitting needles into an abnormally large sweater with seven holes, one of which was on a sleeve, the others were just kind of on the body in an asymmetrical fashion. She had a cup of tea half-drunk in front of her, but a bottle of scotch was further on the table and only a quarter full.

The redhead nodded his thanks to his friend and approached the lady, “Doris, I’m Auror Ronald Weasley. May I ask you a few questions?” 

“Grab that thread! It’s getting away!” she spoke in a clipped tone and he did what he was told, “Quick, feed it back into the needles, feed it back - good, good! Do you knit?”

“Er, no, but my mum does, quite a bit actually,” Ron was thankful the place was mostly empty save the hunchback in the opposite corner and two sooty wizards playing Go Fish with cards that tried to slip out of your grasp like actual fish.

“I’ll talk to a son who knows how to help his mummy,” said Doris.

“Thank you,” he showed her the victim’s picture, “Have you ever seen this woman in here?”

“Yes, ought to be due back in tonight, why? What’s she done?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out. Did she talk to anyone? Did she look like she was waiting for someone?”

“Oh, no, no, no, she’d come in alright, but just to get over to the Muggle side.”

“The Muggle side?”

“That’s what I said,” she tsked at her knitting needles when they slowed and they sped up again, “She’d go out, come back in, use the floo, and never said a word to nor so much as looked at anybody.”

“Anything else you remember? Did she ever look worried or scared?”

“Why, no, not at all, she seemed… excited to be going and… happy when she was coming back… It was a lad, I reckon,” Doris nodded to herself, “A woman knows these things, knows the signs in her sisters, and that woman was smitten - in  _ love _ !”

It seemed she had no more to say, so Ron thanked her and decided to take a peek out on the Muggle street. The auror pulled on the Muggle-Worthy chain in the inner pocket of his cloak and it transformed into one of those fashionable trench coats. He didn’t know what he expected to see - a ghost, a familiar face, a clue carelessly left in the middle of Charing Cross Road and surprisingly undisturbed? No, there was none of that, so he went back inside, said goodbye to Neville and Doris and floo’ed back to the ministry.

*****

“Meow,” Crookshanks was a peculiar cat that seemed to actually enunciate the sounds he made, almost like he wasn’t a cat at all, but rather a person pretending. 

Harry knew this couldn’t be, though. Mrs. Figg, whom he was going to see, had verified herself that he was a full Kneazle, and she would know. The boy walked down Privet Drive feeling far too big and far too different from its trimmed hedges, tended flower beds, and freshly mowed grass. He’d always felt different in the place where he grew up, but feeling too big was new. Usually, he’d felt far too small and insignificant. 

Studiously avoiding even looking at Number 4, he rang Mrs. Figg’s doorbell and checked the cake he’d baked with Mrs. Weasley one more time - it was still there and hadn’t magically disappeared, of course it hadn’t; he was being silly. 

“Why, Harry,” Mrs. Figg looked up at him, then down at Crookshanks and practically purred, “Oh, and you brought a friend! Hello, little mister!”

“And cake,” said Harry. It was a carrot cake. “Happy Birthday.”

“Oh,” she bristled, even as a smile crept its way up to her face, “Well, come in, come in.”

Harry made sure to wipe his feet. 

The house hadn’t changed much from when he was younger. It still smelled of cabbage and still housed about a hundred and one cats and kneazles. There were pictures of cats everywhere, only Harry knew then the reason why - they were the only family she had. 

“The Dursleys never moved back,” she spoke up, making him turn away from the window, “Dudley’s at the University of London and his parents live in an apartment in the West End.”

“Oh,” said Harry, “That’s… nice?”

“I suppose that’s one way of putting it,” she moved a cat off the couch and put two pieces of the carrot cake on the coffee table with two cups of tea, “How are you, Harry?”

He told her he would be working for the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee in September.

She tilted her head in a question, but she didn’t vocalize it and he didn’t feel the need to give an answer. They ate their cake and drank their tea - it was the magical sort, so it tasted like whatever you wanted: Mrs. Figg’s tasted like camomile and Harry’s tasted like hot chocolate.

“You know, the trick is to play on Muggle’s unobservant natures,” she said, petting each of the five cats that sat immediately around her in turns.

“Do you speak from experience?” Harry grinned.

Mrs. Figg chuckled, “Oh, I know what to look for, see? An  _ Accio _ here, a  _ Wingardium Leviosa _ there - wizards are so dependent on their wands. But Muggles,” she stopped to shake her head and tut, “especially with their electronics, goodness! It’s not so bad now, but give it a few years, you’ll be wondering about the state of the human race, that’s for sure.”

Crookshanks pawed Harry’s knee and nodded at the cake, so he gave him the rest. Harry didn’t particularly like carrot cake, but he’d learned from Mrs. Weasley that it was Mrs. Figg’s favourite, at least back in the day and one’s favourite cake never really changes from childhood, does it?

“A bit of psychology,” the old woman continued, “you get all of the facts, tell it convincingly enough the way you want them to believe it, and you’ve got yourself the perfect excuse.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Harry.

“Are you going to visit Teddy as well this afternoon?”

“Always. Although I think I’d best leave Crookshanks here, if you don’t mind. After last time.” Last time, when Teddy had transformed himself completely into Crookshanks and Harry had taken  _ him _ back to the Burrow instead, where he promptly changed back into human form. 

“Yes,” Mrs. Figg cooed at the kneazle, “Leave this one with me. We’ll have a wonderful time.” 

*****

That same afternoon, Hermione, Ginny, Nee, and Retly walked into Gringotts using the side entrance and stood before the lone goblin at the end of the long, chandeliered hallway. One always let the goblin whom you were visiting speak first.

“Yes?” the creature leaned over the podium to peer down at them.

Nee looked at Hermione, who nodded encouragingly. 

“We’d like to speak with an inter-species negotiator, if you please,” Nee spoke clearly.

The goblin bared his teeth, “We don’t have business with your kind.”

“Oh,” the elf’s ears flapped once, twice, and she read the goblin’s name off the podium, “but you do, Mister Stupook! See, we both want - nay,  _ need _ \- representation in the Wizengamot and -”

Stupook broke out into peals of hoarse laughter.

“- and if we join forces,” Nee continued, her voice growing shrill and bouncing off the close walls, “we’d have more leverage -”

“We have leverage,” the goblin sneered, “All we’d gain from aligning ourselves with you, servant scum -”

“Hey! Don’t speak that way to Nee!” Retly exclaimed indignantly, but was ignored.

“- is a liability and any negotiator would agree.”

Nee’s big green eyes narrowed suddenly, “Then you wouldn’t mind letting us speak to one.”

“Dismissed!” Stupook scraped his long nails across the top of the podium, signifying that their request had been denied, “If you come back again, you will have violated Act 571 as per the Goblin Liaison Office Agreement of 1876!”

“We’ll find another way,” Hermione knew how seriously the goblins took their violations and ushered everyone out quickly.

Retly turned around to face the closed door of Gringotts and blew a raspberry that made Ginny laugh.

“I know who else we can talk to,” the bushy-haired witch held out her hands for them to take.

Ginny shook her head, “I know who else we can talk to as well. You grab your people, I’ll grab mine?”

“Sure,” Hermione apparated herself and the elves into Hogsmeade, “Elves can still apparate within Hogwarts grounds, right?”

“Oh, yes,” Retly nodded, his ears dancing with him, “Where to, Miss Granger?”

“Hagrid’s hut.”

“Right away!” and with a pop, they were there - actually inside the hut where Hagrid was making tea and Fang was asleep.

The dog woke up and whimpered, retreating under the bed at the sudden intrusion.

“Oi, yeh bloody coward!” the half-giant shuffled away from the fireplace and sat down at his big table, “Have eh look see, eh? Why, it’s only Hermione an’ Ginny, don’t yeh know! An’ they’ve brough’ guests wiv ‘em. Tha’ ain’t no way ter be treat guests, Fang!”

The dog stayed where he was, however. 

“Eh, fine, be tha’ way,” he smiled brightly at the girls and the elves, “Wha’ brings yeh tuh see ol’ Hagrid?”

“This is Nee and Retly,” Hermione introduced, “They’re fighting for equal rights and representation for all magical creatures.”

Nee told him about the goblins and gave him her condensed pitch that wasn’t fifty feet of parchment long. 

Retly interjected with barbs towards their naysayers and it was those that Hagrid actually ended up remembering and that made him a supporter of their cause. 

“I remember bein’ told e’er since I was eh wee lad tha’ I’d ne’er get inter Hogwarts,” said the half-giant, “Not ‘nough magic in me, too much giant. ‘Course, the giants wouldn’t ne’er welcome me neither, ‘cause I was too small - no good, no help… But guess wha’, I turned eleven, an’ there was eh friendly ol’ owl givin’ me my letter! ‘Course the ministry fought it, but good ol’ Albus Dumbledore fough’ for me… Guess it’s my turn ter fight for someone else, hey?”

“Do you think the centaurs would be receptive as well, Hagrid?” asked Hermione.

“We can speak ter Firenze after he’s finished his… summer sun chart things,” he waved his big hands dismissively before taking his screaming kettle off the fire and pouring five cuppas, “If he’s sold, he can convince the rest.”

*****

Angelina got no useful information inside Twilfitt & Tatting’s, except that Beatrice Zabini would often go out to the street while waiting for her robes to be adjusted. So she asked the aurors on the beat in their beaver brown cloaks if they’d ever seen her. 

“I’ve seen her at the apothecary on the north side once or twice,” said one of them, named Nesbit.

The witch apparated herself directly in front of the door because she didn’t feel like walking, but that was a mistake. The door swung open straight into her nose. 

“Oh, bugger, sorry, ma’am, are you alright?” a voice that gave her the most vivid flashbacks made her more dizzy than the actual impact. “Hold on, this happens to me all the time, I know just the spell for it,” he muttered it under his breath a few times to stop the bleeding completely, “There you are, good as new.”

Angelina saw his parcels all over the cobblestones and bent even further to pick them up, “Oh, I hope nothing is ruined.”

“I always  _ Spongify  _ them so nothing breaks, don’t worry,” the boy cast a silent organizing charm to collect them, which was much more efficient than her reach and grab technique, but efficient wasn’t what she was looking for. She just wasn’t ready to look at his face and break the illusion that the man she’d loved had come back from the dead. 

“Well, then good day, sorry again,” as she stood, she pulled her cloak’s hood over her face and turned quickly so he wouldn’t see, except he did. 

“A-Angelina?”

The witch lowered her hood, feeling rather ridiculous, then she looked at him - red hair, freckles, a scar where his ear should have been. “He-hello, George.”

“Hello.”

“Brewing up some mischief, I see.”

“As always. Are you going to talk me out of it, Auror Johnson?”

“I would if I thought it would work.”

He chuckled lightly while he thought of something else to say, “... On duty?”

“Yeah.”

“Right…” the wizard twirled his wand in his hand, a nervous habit of his and Fred used to copy him since he couldn’t stop, that way they’d continue to be the twins that no one could tell apart.

“See you, then,” Angelina pulled open the apothecary door.

“See you,” he echoed. 

The auror had a less than fruitful conversation with the saleswitch - they already knew Beatrice Zabini regularly drank custom de-aging potions and various weak elixirs to keep herself looking young. Anyway, it was time to meet Ron to interrogate Blaise Zabini under truth serum, so she asked to use the floo. 

“Ministry of Magic!” she spoke clearly and disappeared from the fireplace in a puff of soot and smoke.

Angelina took the lift to Level 2 and saw Ron and Blaise Zabini already sat at her desk. 

“I have the potion,” Ron held up a small vial he’d checked out of their store room.

“Let’s hear you sing, Zabini,” she crossed her arms at their suspect.

“Bottom’s up,” the redheaded auror poured the  _ Veritaserum _ down the other boy’s throat, “Who has your mother, Beatrice Zabini, been seeing in Muggle London?” 

“I don’t know,” he spoke robotically.

“Who was your mother dating before she died?”

“I don’t know.”

Angelina tried, “Who killed your mother?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where were you when she was killed?”

“At the Greengrass’. They were having a party.”

“Why was your mother killed?”

“I don’t know.”

Their interrogation went on that way until the serum wore off and Blaise Zabini massaged his temples, saying, “ _ Merlin _ , that was the most  _ boring _ fifteen minutes of my life. You lot really  _ are _ incompetent, aren’t you? No leads, no nothing!”

“Can I hex him  _ now _ ?” Ron regarded him with disgust.

“Not if I beat you to it,” Angelina muttered before kicking the chair Zabini sat in, “Go on, get out of here.”

The wizard stood with a flourish, picked up his silk cloak made for Italian weather, and strutted away. 

“Let’s call it a day, Weasley. We’ll figure out how to track our victim’s whereabouts in Muggle London tomorrow,” Angelina led the way into the lift, “Plans tonight?”

“I saw Neville Longbottom today. Might invite Harry and Hermione along to get drinks with him. Hey, do you know anyone we could set Neville up with? The bloke actually bought the Leaky Cauldron from Old Tom like he has nothing better to do.”

“I don’t get out much myself, to be honest,” she shrugged as the lift doors opened, “but if I think of anyone, I’ll let you know.”

“Equal rights for all magical creatures! Representation before legislation! As magical brethren we stand together!”

“Well, I’d like to see RACOM-C get in the middle of this,” Angelina chuckled in amazement.

“How did they get the giants in?” Ron looked up and swore the atrium ceiling had not always been that high.

“Oh, look! There’s Hermione!” the witch pointed to the centre of the protesting crowd of giants, centaurs, elves, and humans.

“Bloody hell, is that Newt Scamander?”

“I didn’t take you for a fan.”

“I heard his interview with Lee Jordan, still haven’t read the book, but he seems alright.”

“Just because he used to play chaser for Hufflepuff?”

“They had a shoddy seeker in the same year as him and even then they won the cup three years in a row because he put them in the lead by 130 points!”

“I can introduce you if you want,” said a boy with dark brown hair and a swarthy skin tone that was not native to England. He was handsome, but that was much overshadowed by the fact that he was wearing a unicorn onesie. “Grandfather very rarely gets to talk about Quidditch. Everyone else just wants to ask him about his work with animals.”

“Oh,” Ron tried not to look him up and down too obviously, “Brilliant.”

“Ron! Angelina!” a floaty voice came from behind the unicorn boy, who stepped aside and looped his arm through hers.

“Looney Love-Luna Lovegood!” Angelina smiled in slightly uncomfortable surprise. 

“I see you’ve met Rolf Scamander. He’s covering the protest for the  _ Daily Prophet _ ,” said the platinum blonde girl who was also wearing a unicorn onesie, plus pine cone earrings and a multi-coloured paper clip necklace threaded with softly humming daisies. “It was so nice of your sister to invite us, Ronald. It’s quite fun! The elves even made snickerdoodles. Would you like some?”

“Sure, why not?” Ron never said no to baked goods and if it ever got back to Ginny that he refused her strange friend, he’d be bat-bogey hexed into the next week for sure.

The aurors stepped into the throng of people and got their snickerdoodles as the giants began to use the stone floor as a bongos.

“‘Mione!” Ron had to yell, even as he stood right behind her.

“Ron! Thank goodness, things have gotten, er, a little out of hand…”

“Did you send your terms up to the Wizengamot?” he asked.

“Of course, but I’m afraid if they don’t get back to us soon -”

“What do we want?” shouted Retly.

“Rights!” the crowd screamed.

“When do we want them?”

“ _ Now _ !”

“Magical Brethren, may I have your attention,” came the calm voice of Sigourney Delaney-Podmore, Chief of the Wizengamot. She cut a stately figure in her royal purple Wizengamot robes as she stood among them. “We have read over your demands and find them not unreasonable.”

“Why doesn’t she just say that they’re reasonable?” Ron murmured.

“Shh,” said Hermione.

“A public hearing has been scheduled a week from today that we may hear your grievances and pay them appropriate attention. The details will be owled to the address you have enclosed. In the meantime, if you would be so kind as to exit the atrium in an orderly fashion. We look forward to seeing you in a week,” with a swish of her robes, she floo’ed away.

The atrium erupted into cheers. Hermione spun around, arms thrown into the air, then around Ron’s neck to kiss him fiercely. 

“Con-congratulations,” he blushed.

The magical creatures paraded out in as orderly a fashion as could be expected. Ginny, Ron, Hermione, and Angelina brought up the rear with powerful  _ Scourify _ and  _ Reparo _ charms so as not to give the ministry an excuse to change their minds because they didn’t like how they’d left things.

*****

The lilac bush outside the Grangers fluttered as Hermione materialized behind it, out of view from the street. She let herself into her parents’ home - her home, she reminded herself, although it had been a while since she’d felt that way about it. Hogwarts was her home, had been since she was eleven. 

“Mum? Dad?”

“In the reading nook!” her dad sounded cheerful and it was like her ribcage opened up just a bit so her lungs had more space to breathe into.

“Hello,” she kissed both their cheeks and sat down in her usual sofa chair opposite their davenport, “How’ve you both been?”

“A lad named Pierce came in,” said her dad, “apparently he’s been saving up for braces since his girlfriend had a few things to say about the state of his grinders.”

“Richard,” her mum shook her head, “ _ patient confidentiality _ ?”

“Well, he’s not a patient, really,” he reasoned, “I told him if she was upset enough about his teeth to leave him, well, he didn’t deserve her.”

“And what did he say to that?” asked Hermione.

“He said I didn’t know what I was talking about and if I didn’t want it, he’d take his business elsewhere. Poor chap.”

“Well, she asked how  _ we _ were, Richard,” her mum patted his knee so that he’d stop cracking open his Stephen King novel to read what happened next, “I’ve decided to take up gardening. Simple, practical stuff like bulbs and shoots. I found a love for it in Australia.”

“And, er, I bought a book on famous chess games,” her dad scratched his head, “been playing them out. The blokes in the park think I’ve improved, but I still never win.”

“I have a friend who’s rather brilliant at chess!” Hermione beamed, “I could bring him over with me some time… if you want.”

“We’d love to meet him,” said Dr. Granger, leaning forward in her seat so she could carefully gauge her daughter’s response to her question, “Is this the Harry fellow we keep hearing about?”

“No, Harry’s rubbish at chess,” Hermione laughed, “It’s Ron.”

Her dad frowned, “The ginger who used to annoy you every chance he got?”

“Oh, I… might have been exaggerating,” she blushed, “just a bit…”

“You like him,” her mum smiled excitedly, “and of course he likes you back! Boys are  _ terrible _ at articulating their feelings, so they resort to pulling at our hair and flicking rubber bands at us,” she ribbed her husband fondly, “So, Hermione? Have you told him?”

“Yes, I’m… I’m seeing him… actually… ever since… just before we came to fetch you.”

“Is he good to you?” Dr. Granger asked his daughter.

“Very,” she said without hesitation.

“Then we’d love to meet him.”

Hermione could contain her soaring heart no longer. Her parents were having a good day and they were having a normal conversation. They could and likely would have more bad ones ahead, but, holding on to that moment, she closed the distance between them and hugged them both tightly. 

“Are you quite alright, dear?” her mum rubbed soothing circles between her shoulder blades.

“Never better,” a single happy tear rolled down the side of her dimpled cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like it? Hate it? Or worse, meh? Let me know so I can make it better, retcon it, what have you! :)  
> Tumblr: [@littlejeanniebean](https://littlejeanniebean.tumblr.com/)


	3. Muggleborns

“Excited for your first day, Harry?” Mr. Weasley asked him for the third time on the lift to Level 3. He had asked at breakfast and then again just before they floo’ed to the ministry. 

The dark-haired boy always answered the same, “I feel alright.”

“That Jeremia Podmore can be… er, rather intense,” said the redheaded man, “She was a prefect while Molly and I were at school. Very strict. Would dock as much as 15 points if she caught you out after curfew, even if you were in the same house - and that was on top of writing you up for detention.”

The lift dinged and the gate folded in on itself so they could exit.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll do great,” the older wizard concluded.

“Thanks, Mr. Weasley,” Harry stepped out into the long, twisted hallway, “Er, you wouldn’t happen to know where…?”

But his flaming red hair had disappeared - or had that wall been there before? - and Harry was standing alone. 

“Harry? Harry Potter?” a boy with an Irish accent came running towards him, tailed by a chocolate-skinned boy with dark curly hair that was nevertheless somehow more kept than Harry’s.

“Seamus? Dean?” Harry grinned at his school friends, “What are you lot doing here?”

“We joined the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee,” said Seamus, “Our NEWTs were just shy of the Auror Department’s requirements, but we figured if we gained some experience -”

“- we  _ were _ a part of Dumbledore’s Army after all,” added Dean.

“- we could reapply next year,’ the Irishman finished.

“What are  _ you _ doing here, Harry?” asked the Muggleborn.

“Oh, pretty much the same,” he tried his best to sound nonchalant and ignore the shock written all over their faces, “Er, you wouldn’t happen to know your way around this place, would you?”

“I reckon if we did, we wouldn’t have ended up right back where we started,” Dean recovered first. 

“I  _ know _ where  _ I’m _ going,” Seamus bristled, “but these blasted walls are worse than the Grand Staircase at Hogwarts!”

Just then, the lift opened again. Out walked a stout boy with sandy hair and another boy, almost deathly pale, with large, bushy brown eyebrows.

“Ernie! Justin!” the boys greeted them.

“Are you here for the committee too?” asked Dean.

Justin nodded, “We were worried we were running late, but I guess -”

“Oh, no, we  _ are _ running late,” Harry glanced at his muggle wristwatch and winced. They had just under five minutes to navigate the labyrinth that was the Ministry of Magic Level 3. 

“Leave it to me, boys,” Ernie cast the Four-Point spell, “the old committee office used to be on the east side and they can’t completely reconfigure the building - just the interior - otherwise the anti-Muggle wards won’t work anymore. So: if north is this way,” he pointed to their right, “then we just need to keep going this way,” he pointed straight ahead, “Stick together, let’s!”

They arrived just as the big clock face on the ministry’s exterior struck ten. Ernie’s pink cheeks and Justin’s somehow even paler ones made them the initial targets for Jeremia Podmore’s glare. She was a tall and spindly witch with a sharp nose and deep-set eyes. Harry thought she could have been McGonagall’s twin sister, except she didn’t need spectacles and the stern downturn of her thin lips held not even a hint of a smile. 

“I must confess,” her beady eyes landed on Harry - well, not Harry, but his scar, “I wasn’t entirely convinced until now. The Boy. Who. Lived.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Dean spoke up for his friend, just a touch of a challenge in his tone.

She ignored him and summoned a scroll of parchment to float just at reading level to her, “You will work in pairs: Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan, Ernie MacMillan and Justin Finch-Fletchly, and Mr. Potter, you will work with me. There are Muggle clothes in the closet in the back, Mr. Finnigan and Mr. MacMillan. Keep your wands in your jackets unless absolutely necessary - they usually only exacerbate the situation. Alternatively, one of you might distract the Muggles while the other resolves the issue using magic. Don’t use electricity as an excuse unless you actually know what you’re talking about...”

Her list went on until a quarter to eleven. Dean and Justin helped their wizard partners change into something that did not look completely out of fashion - a great feat considering the closet was last restocked in 1973 - while Harry and Podmore went ahead to the Muggle side of King's Cross where the platform opened at 10:45 on the dot. 

“Watch,” she said, leaning against the tenth pillar, where they had a perfect view. 

The commuters seemed to multiply in the span of a second. 

“Did they just -”

“- apparate onto a Muggle platform in broad daylight? Yes,” Podmore handed him a ticket book identical to the one she held in a vice grip, “Hand ‘em out if you can catch ‘em.”

Podmore’s ticket book quivered slightly and she flipped it open. Inked words began to materialize on the page, _Trunks falling from the sky above St. Pancras._ _Brooms visible from the ground._

“ _ Merlin _ , ever since Hogwarts was infiltrated by Death Eaters, no one trusts the Express anymore,” she seemed to direct this complaint at Harry, who remained silent, “Stay here. Keep watch. I’ll deal with this,” she walked the short distance to the loo, from whence Harry could only assume, she apparated to the neighbouring station. 

Just then, a Muggle schoolgirl with her head down and eyes trained on her communicator walked straight at the pillar between Platforms 9 and 10 and managed to get through because she didn’t know she ought to have hit anything. 

Harry scribbled into his ticket book,  _ Dean, Seamus: watch the Muggle side. Going after one who made it through. _

_ Aye _ , came Seamus’ messy handwriting in reply. 

Harry stepped through and looked about for the Muggle. There were students everywhere in their Hogwarts robes, a game of gobstones going in the corner, and an elf hawking magical newspapers. Luckily, she seemed entirely focused on the big red express, at least until she remembered where she was, or at least, where she was supposed to be. 

The wizard turned his hair blond and lengthened his bangs before walking a wide circle around her and taking out his cellphone - there was no service on that side of the platform - and raising it high above his head, watching the bars as he bumped squarely into her, just firmly enough to get her attention.

“Oh, I’m sorry, are you alright?”

“Yes, I…” she looked up at him and her pupils dilated within her moist gray eyes, “Um… no, I’m… I’m rather lost, actually.”

“What platform are you looking for?” he smiled winningly. 

“Ten,” she said, “Yourself?”

“I was just looking for a signal boost, actually,” he held up his phone, “but it seems to have gotten worse.”

She flipped open her communicator, “Ugh, same.”

“Let’s try over here,” he pointed back from where they’d come, “I don’t think I’ve ever been to this part of the station, have you?”

“No, can’t say that I have, er…?”

“Harry,” he ruffled his already wild hair as he raised his phone again, “One bar!”

“Cheryl,” she giggled and blushed as she came to stand beside him and checked her own device, “I got one too!”

“This must be a new addition to the station. That would explain why they haven’t got it on the map yet,” he continued to walk closer and closer towards the wall-that-wasn’t-really-a-wall before stopping suddenly so that she was forced to bump into him. Then he secured his arm around her waist and guided their fall back through to the Muggle side. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” she gasped looking down at him, her long hair tickling his nose, “Are you alright?”

“Er, yes,” Harry helped her up as she stood and looked around, “Ah, there’s ten!” 

“Thank you so much!” Cheryl said but didn’t leave and had she glanced just behind the boy she was infatuated with at first sight, she would have noticed a long line of trolleys waiting to get onto Platform 9 ¾. 

“Right, well, see you around, Lost Girl,” he winked and spun around quickly, only to come face to face with a redheaded and bushy-haired witch, both of whom recognized him instantly despite his disguise. 

Harry shook his head slightly and walked right past them, glancing over his shoulder at Cheryl, walking towards Platform 10. She looked back as well, and gave him a flirtatious wave. 

“Ahem.”

Harry put his hair back to the way it usually was. “Hi, Ginny.”

Her face was dead-straight, but her honeyed eyes were alight. “I assume you’re working,” 

“Hard at work,” he asserted.

“Good.”

“Great.”

“Brilliant,” she pursed her lips as they threatened to curl upward.

“Outstanding,” he didn’t even try to stop himself from grinning widely. 

“Are you going to kiss me goodbye or not, Potter?” Ginny threw her arms around his neck.

Harry kissed her goodbye and promised to write her often. 

“There, Constable!” a woman pointed at a boy and a girl with plain brown hair and sallow faces, “It’s them I saw them start a fire in the trash bin this morning! This isn’t a squatter town, you know!”

As the burly officer advanced on the children, the boy and the girl raised two long, wooden sticks at him.

“Expelliarmus,” Harry and Ginny whispered, but before the constable could lay hands on the disarmed twins, the couple came between them.

“There you are!” said Harry.

“We’ve been looking all over for you!” said Ginny.

Harry picked up their ‘sticks’ and showed him his own. He whispered, “Are you looking for Platform 9 ¾?”

They looked at each other and seemed to exchange a silent conversation, after which they nodded in unison. 

“Are these  _ your _ children?” the woman who’d made the accusation sniffed at them. The couple looked too young to have children that old. 

“They’re my sisters’,” answered Ginny, “If you’ll excuse us, we’d like to get them home -”

“What are their names, then?” the constable raised a skeptical brow.

“Henry and Gemma,” she said. 

“Is that right?” he addressed the children, who looked at Harry’s trustworthy face and nodded. “Well, Ms. Fredrichson here said she saw them here at four in the morning!”

“Yes, they ran away,” the redheaded witch mimicked the woman’s self-important air, “something about no second helpings of pudding or some foolishness. My sister spoiled them rotten.”

“Let’s go, Gin,” Harry led the children away. 

“Good day,” she turned haughtily and caught up to her boyfriend.

“The hair flip was a bit much, no?” he smirked at her. 

“C-can - can we have our wands back, please?” the boy spoke up.

“Of course,” Harry returned them, “but you mustn’t use them around Muggles - non-magic folk. You can get into some serious trouble with the wizarding law.”

They nodded quickly. 

“Now, are you ready to see the platform?” Ginny led them to the pillar between Platforms 9 and 10, “Watch.”

She pushed her trolley straight at the wall and disappeared. 

The children gasped and immediately turned to Harry, who shrugged and said, “It’s magic. You can take a run at it if you’re a bit nervous.”

The boy went first and disappeared as well. His sister chewed her lip and started, but stopped just as soon.

“Would you like me to go with you?” asked Harry.

She shook her head, “I’m eleven.”

“Hi, Eleven, I’m Harry.”

The girl made a face at his bad joke, “My name is Merina. My brother’s name is Caverin. Not Henry and Gemma like your friend said.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Merina,” Harry placed her accent around the East End. 

She ran at the pillar and was gone. 

*****

The minute she entered the Great Hall Hermione knew something was wrong. Despite the millions of candles lighting up the charmed ceiling, all she could feel and see around her was death. There was where the cots had laid. There was where Fred had laid. There was Professor Lupin and Tonks. There was Lavender Brown. There was Colin Creevey.

Ginny nudged her towards the end of the table where the seventh years sat, “Alright, Hermione?”

“Alright,” she whispered back.

Professor Pomona Sprout, the new deputy headmistress, set the hat on the stool and he began to sing:

_ A new year has come once more _

_ A brand new era has yet to be _

_ So come one, come all to the fore _

_ And I’ll tell you where you ought to be _

_ Among these gathered and among _

_ Those who’ve gathered and have gone _

_ I’ll find a place that’s just for you _

_ Where friends of old you’ll find anew _

_ You might find yourself in Gryffindor _

_ Those bravehearts have your backs _

_ You might find yourself in Ravenclaw _

_ With friends as sharp as tacks _

_ Or perhaps in Slytherin you’ll find _

_ A cunning meeting of the minds _

_ Yet there too is sweet Hufflepuff _

_ Who’ll stick by you through the rough _

_ Welcome home, dear students _

_ Nay, dear friends and family _

_ Hogwarts’ walls, newly erected _

_ Have missed you much aplenty _

_ Look to your left, look to your right _

_ Share a handshake, share a smile _

_ A new year is ours once more _

_ A fresh era from any come before _

_ We’ve shed our tears and we may _

_ Have more still to fall, who is to say? _

_ But mistakes are meant for learning _

_ And Hogwarts is a school, do you follow me? _

_ So count on your friends in every house _

_ And be a friend to every toad, owl, and mouse _

_ Because though I sort, divide, and split, know this _

_ Hogwarts belongs to each wizard and each witch _

Hermione and Ginny cheered enthusiastically at the song’s close, as did many others. Ginny’s stomach growled before the first student had even been sorted and called it a new record. 

Professor Sprout called the students’ names one by one.

“Adder, Fitzwilliam!” was Hufflepuff, but Luna Lovegood also clapped from the Ravenclaw table, followed by Ginny, Dennis Creevey, and Hermione from Gryffindor, followed by the rest of those who remained of Dumbledore’s Army, followed by the rest of the school, barring most of Slytherin. 

“They’ll come around,” Dennis said confidently, snapping pictures of the united hall. 

By the time they got to “Elezra, Caverin!” most of Slytherin was at least clapping out of politeness. 

“That’s the boy Harry and I met at King’s Cross,” Ginny whispered.

“ _ Gryffindor _ !” called the hat.

“Elezra, Merina!”

“That’s his twin sister,” she murmured, “Poor girl looks terrified.”

The hat sat on her head a long time. She kept shaking her head slightly, her lips moving around private words. Finally, after five minutes, the hat proclaimed, “ _ Gryffindor _ !” and some color returned to her cheeks as she was able to join her brother.

Once all the first-years were sorted, Headmistress McGonagall called for the feast to materialize and after everyone had eaten hearty, she made the usual announcements: the Forbidden Forest was strictly forbidden, there was a list of banned items on the door of Filch’s office and it was the students’ responsibilities to know what was on it, Quidditch tryouts would take place for all years in three weeks, dueling club would commence the same time…

Hermione wondered on which of the house’s tables it had been that Ginny and Molly Weasley dueled for their lives against Bellatrix Lestrange. Her hands suddenly felt very cold, as did her feet, so she cast a warming spell about her. 

The prefects were calling for the first-years to follow them to the dorms. 

“Come on,” said Ginny, “if we hurry, we can beat the firstie rush. Ingrid already gave me the password.” 

Her friend nodded and followed her. On the Grand Staircase, she remembered a Death Eater falling as the stairs had shifted suddenly. It was if the castle knew they were at war and did everything it could to help them - making navigating the stairs easier than they’ve ever been for everyone except those with dark marks.

“ _ Hold on _ !” yelled one of the prefects behind them and Hermione whipped around, holding her wand at the ready, but it was just a set of stairs, moving calmly over to a different landing, carrying all the students safely.

“Alright?” Ginny asked her when she didn’t move to relax, put down her wand, breathe, anything. 

Her hands were very clammy and she could hear her heartbeat in her ears.  _ What was happening to her? _

“Hermione, look at me,” her friend took her shoulders firmly until their brown eyes met, “Let’s get you to the tower, yeah?”

“Yeah,” her throat was very dry. 

“Here,” Ginny conjured some ice, “Suck on it.”

“Why?”

“It’ll create saliva. You can’t when you’re under pressure. So forcing yourself to create saliva tells your body that it is, in fact, in a state of calm.” 

They told the Fat Lady the password and she let them into the Gryffindor Common Room. 

“Oh, captain, my captain!” Jimmy Peakes and Richtie Coote of the former Gryffindor Quidditch team welcomed Ginny. 

“ _ What _ ?” she asked Demelza Robins, a chaser whom she had also flown with before.

“You’re our new captain!” the girl cheered, “Look at the notice for trials up on the board!”

“Merlin’s beard!”

“Congratulations, Ginny!” Hermione was never one for Quidditch herself, but she knew how much her friends enjoyed it. She had also read extensively and watched countless matches to know how skilled they were, Ginny most of all. 

“Thanks, ‘Mione!”

The players quickly fell into discussions of strategy and who of the other houses’ teams had come back that year. Ginny made it clear that she would be following the rules and trying them just like everyone else. 

“We wouldn’t expect any less of you!” Demelza assured her. 

The ice Ginny had given Hermione had melted completely and the witch was feeling antsy again. The Common Room was loud and crowded with first-years comparing notes, older students catching up, and third-years discussing their elective options, but it was all a chaotic buzz to her. The  _ boom-pop! _ of a particularly intense game of Exploding Snap made her jump, only this time, she stopped herself from raising her wand by holding down her right wrist.

“I’m knackered,” she whispered to Ginny, “Going to bed. See you in the morning.”

In the quiet cool of the tower, she penned a quick letter to Ron: How are you? How’s work? How’s Harry? Miss you.

The girl deliberated sending one to her parents. She couldn’t know what state the owl might find them in and she didn’t want to induce any unnecessary shock that could set back their recovery, so she penned one to Mrs. Weasley: How are you? How is the family? Miss you and your lovely cooking. 

She wrote a separate letter to give to her parents on her behalf: How are you both? How’s the practice? How’s Stephen King, Dad? How’s Jodi Picoult, Mum? Be sure to go for a walk - at least an hour everyday, but bundle up, it’s getting chilly. Don’t forget to eat lots of fish, blueberries, broccoli - see the list on the fridge for the rest. Miss you. 

Barely half an hour had passed when she tucked the letters into her robes to mail the next day. Hermione got ready for bed and not even fifteen minutes had gone by. 

“Okay, relax,” she told herself, climbing into her four-poster and pulling the curtains closed.

She heard Ginny enter quietly with Demelza. Two other girls came in after them and were less considerate, so she cast a silencing charm on her curtains. 

It was too quiet. Hermione got up, put on the robes she’d laid out on the chair and walked to the owlery to mail her letters. Nobody bothered her; nobody was awake except the prefects on patrol. It was almost midnight. 

When she’d made it back to the tower without incident - the girl believed she had all those years of sneaking around with her mates to credit - she took a Draught of Peace and fell into the kind of restless sleep that is the best a potion can offer you when you are truly troubled. 

_ Forest of Dean… I came here once with Mum and Dad. That was years ago. It's just how I remember it. The trees, the river, everything. _

_ Harry!  _

_ Run!  _

_ You are lying, filthy Mudblood, and I know it! You have been inside my vault at Gringotts! Tell the truth, tell the truth! _

There is a tap at her window between hers and Ginny’s beds. She lets three owls in at three in the morning and gives them each a treat. 

_ Dear Miss Granger, _

_ Please find enclosed the elves’ statement for your review. We greatly appreciate all the help you’ve lent our cause throughout the years.  _

_ Yours, _

_ Nee _

_ Dear Ms. Granger, _

_ I am not as familiar with wizards’ legal customs as I would like to be, so Miss Nee advised that I send the centaurs’ statement to you for review. _

_ Sincerely, _

_ Firenze _

_ Dear Mlle. Granger, _

_ Hagrid has told me great things about your prowess as a witch and a revolutionary. I trust the giants’ statement is in good hands with you. _

_ Cordialement, _

_ Madame Maxime _

Hermione worked until it was time to head down to breakfast, then she drank a Pepper-Up Potion. Ginny thought she’d only been up since six. 

*****

“Oi! Harry, mate!”

“Ron! Hey,” Harry held the lift for him, “Level 2?”

“Yeah. How’s 3?”

The dark-haired boy told him about his first day.

“Bloody hell, those Muggles can be a bit simple, can’t they? No wonder their police haven’t found ‘im yet.”

“What do you mean?” 

Ron told him about the boyfriend they suspected Beatrice Zabini went to visit in Muggle London.

“Did you ask for CCTV footage?”

“For what?”

“Er… you didn’t just ask them if they’d ever seen a dark-haired Italian woman coming out of Charing Cross Road, did you?”

“Er… What’s Cici tea-vee?”

“C’mon, I know a bloke in Muggle Liaison,” Harry told him.

So Ron went with him to Level 3, the north end. 

“Oi, Potter! Have a look at my new toy! Leave your wands at the entrance please! Don’t want them interfering with the signal! Oh, and any heavily charmed objects as well. Old magic is fine, though.”

“Whoa, that’s a lot of screens, Garland…” Harry let out a low whistle, “So does this mean you can pull up footage from Charing Cross Road? Outside the Leaky Cauldron?”

“Watch me,” Garland cracked his knuckles and set them on a pad with an absurd number of buttons. “What time are we looking at?” 

Ron told him and peered into the grainy screen, “There! That’s her. Is this… a pensieve of sorts?”

“Yeah, that’s about the right analogy,” Garland zoomed in on the witch, “Ooh, she’s a beauty.”

“Then you won’t mind following her and telling us where she goes and who she meets up with?”

“Not. At. All,” he set his chin on his hand and watched the video play before switching to a different angle to follow her down the next street and into the tube.

“Right, well, send a bird down to the Auror’s office - Ronald Weasley - when you find what we need.”

“Thanks, Garland,” Harry patted the man’s shoulder.

He hummed, still entranced by the witch on the screen.

The auror collected his wand at the division entrance like it was a child from daycare and he was the father, “Bloody hell, I feel naked without it. How does that man go the whole day in there?”

“He’s a Muggleborn,” Harry explained, “Never been too good with magic - so he says.”

“Right,” Ron checked the time on the clock in the lift, “See you at ‘Mione’s hearing this afternoon?”

“Yeah. There’s a lot of, er, travelling going on for it, so we’ll likely end up there at any rate.”

“Oh, that’s not good if it’s causing a scene. I’d better warn ‘Mione...”

“Make sure you remind her that they’re not bound by the Statute of Secrecy since they’re still not… you know, recognized and represented in the ministry.”

“Hey, that’s a good point of leverage, innit?”

“Not one they’ll appreciate her using, but yeah - blimey, how’d you find the lift so fast?”

“Fibonacci.”

“Ugh,” Harry made a face. He had terrible memories of math in Muggle school.

*****

“Miss Granger!” Nee ran and hugged her knees like a child, “We are so grateful that you are here to share this moment with us!”

“Hopefully it lasts longer than a moment, no?” she embraced the little elf.

“‘Ello, ‘Ermione,” a deep, silky voice said from high above her left shoulder. 

“Madame Maxime! A pleasure to see you,” Hermione shook the giantess’ large hand in both of hers. 

“Zee pleasure eez all mine. I’m zo glad ‘Agrid ‘ad me get my Breeteesh zitizenzhip eef only foor zis.”

“Ms. Granger,” Firenze bowed his front legs, “the centaurs would like to shoot their arrows in honour of this momentous occasion -”

“That’s… wonderful,” she told the divination professor, “but perhaps we should wait until there are fewer people around.”

“ _ Ach _ !” Nee screeched and pulled her ears down the side of her face, “What are our horrid cousins doing  _ here _ ?”

Hermione turned and saw the leaders of the Goblin Liaison Office, as well as the Gringotts board of directions. A thickly veiled priestess stood in their midsts and remained there, speaking only to her fellow goblins. 

“‘Mione,” Ron took her aside and told her about the travelling issues. 

Her mouth twisted into a determined scowl, “Alright, thanks for letting me know. Is Harry…?”

“Damage control.”

“Oh, I’ll make it up to him.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I was so focused on the hearing itself that I didn’t stop to think about travel - and what of their accommodations? This hearing could go on until it’s too dark to make tracks -”

“I’ll talk to Harry. You focus on the hearing.”

“Thanks, Ron,” she kissed his freckled cheek and went back to checking in with the representatives. 

Only when it was time to sit down - humans and creatures are segregated more for convenience than discrimination - did Ron get the chance to speak to her again.

“Aren’t you missing classes right now?” he whispered as a clerk goes through the perfunctory opening.

“Oh, it’s quite alright,” she dismissed his concerns airily.

He looked at her like she had gone mad.

Old Hector Podmore, Chief Warlock, called each of the species representatives forward and his son, Sturgis, a former member of the Order of the Phoenix, was on the court floor, running security. 

The goblins spoke last of all creatures and got straight to the point, as was their way. 

“The Goblin Federation proposes thus,” said their speaker from the liaison office, “that we close all Gringotts branches -”

The humans in the crowd gasped and murmured.

“- halt all trading and transactions -”

More gasping and louder protests.

“- effective immediately until we have ten seats on the Wizengamot, as is proportionate to our population and our contribution to the wizarding community.”

“The ministry is a public service institution, as is Gringotts!” cried one judge among the many clamouring against the goblins’ statement, “You can’t hold it for ransom!”

Hector Podmore called for silence, “The Wizengamot will consider each species’ concerns and requests on a case by case basis. We will set a date with your representatives to reconvene when we have a verdict.”

“There’s no way they’ll let the goblins close the bank for long,” Ron shook his head.

“But if ten seats go to the goblins,” said Hermione, looking to the elves and the centaurs and the giants, “they’ll be reluctant to lose any more in further concessions.”

*****

_ Dear Ms. Nee, _

_ We regret to inform you that the British Ministry of Magic is unable to accommodate your requests at this time. _

_ Sincerely, _

_ Wilhelmina Lestrange  _

_ Secretary to the Chief Warlock _

_ Dear Professor Firenze, _

_ We regret to inform you that the British Ministry of Magic is unable to accommodate your requests at this time. _

_ Sincerely, _

_Wilhelmina Lestrange_

_ Secretary to the Chief Warlock _

_ Dear Madame Maxime,  _

_ We regret to inform you that the British Ministry of Magic is unable to accommodate your requests at this time. _

_ Sincerely, _

_Wilhelmina Lestrange_

_ Secretary to the Chief Warlock _

_ Dear High Priestess Torvick, _

_ We are pleased to inform you that the British Ministry of Magic is able to offer you seven seats on the Wizengamot effective immediately. Three more will become available for both wizards and goblins to vote and run for at the next election. We trust that you will find this arrangement to your satisfaction and we look forward to continuing doing business with you. _

_ Sincerely, _

_Wilhelmina Lestrange_

_ Secretary to the Chief Warlock _

*****

Four wizards dressed in Muggle wear materialize out of thin air in Hampstead Heath. It was mid-morning on a workday and no one was around to witness it.

“It’s just up the street from here,” Harry followed the red marker Garland had drawn for him on a Muggle map. 

“Wands away,” Jeremia Podmore snapped at the aurors. 

Ron and Angelina shared a pained look, but did as they were told. 

They arrived at a small cottage with the front garden in a terrible state of overgrowth.

“ _ Incendio _ ,” Harry muttered, so that the vines would clear away from the little gate.

“Are you sure you’ve got the address right, Potter?” whispered Podmore.

“Number 24,” Harry pointed at the house number with his wand, although he wasn’t entirely sure himself. The windows were wide open and the interior looked deserted.

“He could have run,” said Angelina, “ _ Alohamora _ ,” the front door swung open, “It took a bit to find him.”

“ _ Appare Vestigium _ !” Ron swept the spell about the place, “Bloody hell, that’s some thick residue.” 

“Tease it out,” instructed his training master, “I’ll check upstairs.”

Podmore followed her up the cracked marble spiral staircase. 

Harry went out into the garden out of curiosity and cast the same spell that Ron had. There were traces of the same lifetime-guaranteed garden charms Mrs. Weasley used. “Hey, Ron, what if Zabini was maintaining this place and the Muggle you’re looking for doesn’t actually live here either?”

Garland never got a good look at the Muggle through his pensieve, because as a Muggle, he knew how to avoid being watched. 

“I’ve got mail addressed to a Beatrix Zelda,” Ron showed him.

“Was that  _ supposed _ to blend into Muggle London?” Harry looked through the letters, “Aha! Here’s one for Cameron Lux.”

“Sounds like another fake name to me,” said Ron.

“Wasn’t there a Peter Lux a few years behind us at Hogwarts?”

“Was there?” the auror scratched his head, “I’ll check the ministry registry for both names.”

Harry nodded, “ _ Accio _ phonebook!” he flipped to L, then down to C. “I’ve got an address. A flat in Hampshire.”

“Anything upstairs?” Ron asked the witches, who were returning.

“Nada,” Angelina huffed and  _ Scourgified _ her dusty robes fiercely.

Ron told her what they’d found. 

“Brilliant! Ron, you go with them, I’ll check the registry quickly and meet you there,” she apparated away with a little  _ pop _ !

Podmore jotted down their next location in her ticket book before apparating after the wizards.

“Always let backup know where you’re going,” she chided them.

“Sorry,” said Harry.

“Sorry’s not going to keep you from getting killed,” the woman muttered, stepping out from behind the big garbage bin at the back of the building.

They let themselves in the front and climbed up to the third floor.

Harry and Ron automatically positioned themselves on either side of the suspect’s door when they heard a crash and yelling from inside. 

“I’ll be back!” someone shouted.

“He’s watching the movie  _ Terminator _ ,” Harry rolled his eyes and knocked on the door.

“What’s a moo-vee?” asked Ron.

“I’ll show you sometime,” his friend promised, “Hermione would love it if you took her on a movie date, I reckon.”

“Can I help you?” a young man with high, sculpted cheekbones and sharp blue eyes leaned against the doorframe. 

“Scotland Yard, Cameron Lux,” Podmore raised a very convincing badge, “We have a few questions for you. May we come in?”

“With all due respect,” he grinned with perfect teeth, “I know my rights, ma’am, and I don’t have to let you in without a warrant. I have nothing to hide, so you can ask me your questions, but I know I don’t have to answer them either.”

“Where were you last Tuesday evening between six and nine?”

“Here, watching the telly, eating a sandwich, probably.”

“Anyone who can verify that?”

“No, I was alone - ah!” a single receipt suddenly zoomed out past his ear, giving him a paper cut. “What the hell -”

Harry caught it, read it, and handed it to Podmore, who broke out into a mirthless smile, “Cameron Lux, you are under arrest for the murder of Beatrice Zabini, or as you might know her, Beatrix Zelda.  _ Incarcerous _ !”

“I think he knows her as both,” said Ron quietly standing directly in front of the man, who hadn’t even flinched at the sudden display of magic. “Don’t you, Mr. Lux? I remember your brother now. He was a little, skinny thing, wasn’t he? Sorted into Hufflepuff. What would he think of you?”

“I don’t know,  _ freak _ ,” Lux spat, “I don’t know because he’s  _ dead _ ! Dead for fighting  _ your _ war! Dead because of people like that sad,  _ pathetic _ freak who needed to  _ pay _ people like me to shag her!”

Suddenly, Harry was back in the darkened Great Hall with Voldemort’s voice in his head, everyone’s heads, telling them to give up - give  _ him  _ up, let  _ him _ die. Right there, on the cot beside Remus and Tonks. A small, fifth year Hufflepuff who’d been one of the youngest members of Dumbledore’s Army when Ginny and Neville had led them into hiding. His blue eyes, like his older brother’s, had been open, empty. 

“Harry!” Ron snapped his fingers in front of his friend’s face a few times, “You alright, mate?”

“Yeah… yeah, fine…” Harry looked around. They were alone in the empty flat.

“Podmore took Lux to her friend at the Yard. He’s going to Muggle prison a long time.”

“Right… yeah,” Harry exhaled and swiped at the cold sweat on his brow.

*****

“Justice for the elves!” cried Retly, at the head of the parade outside St. Mungo’s. 

“ _ Justice for the elves _ !”

“Justice for the centaurs!”

“ _ Justice for the centaurs _ !”

Muggles who frequented the shops discreetly run by wizards gaped at the four-legged men and women. Some fainted, some took pictures with their phones and sent them to friends and relatives.

“Justice... for... the... giants!” Gwap enunciated slowly.

“ _ Justice for the giants _ !”

The shadows already cast by London’s gray sky darkened as the large creatures lumbered past.

“The Ministry must listen!” yelled Retly, “Or we will  _ make _ them!”

Harry, Podmore, Dean, Seamus, Ernie, and Justin materialized just inside the wizarding hospital and looked out to the street.

“ _ Merlin’s cruddy beard _ !” Podmore’s face turned very red and she began scribbling frantically in her ticket notebook, “Thomas! Finnigan! Banish all electronic devices into their owner’s homes at once! MacMillan! Finch-Fletchly! Contain the parade! I don’t want to see it passing this block! Potter! Fetch your Muggleborn friend at once! Tell her to get her animals under control!”

“They’re not animals, Podmore,” Harry spoke clearly for them all to hear it and disapparated with a sharp  _ pop _ ! “Hey, Abe,” the boy greeted the Transfigurations professor who simply refused to live up at the castle. Then he disappeared into the secret passageway at the back of the old man’s storeroom.

“Why, if it isn’t Harry Potter!” the Gryffindor ghost, Nearly-Headless Nick tipped his head, “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“I need to find Hermione Granger. Fast.”

“Ah, she’ll be in History of Ma-”

“Thanks!” Harry dashed towards the classroom and burst through the doors in no time at all.

“Mr. Potter!” Binns.

“Harry!” Ginny.

“... Harry?” Hermione.

“Hi Ginny,” he waved and then turned to the bushy-haired witch, “We have to go.”

“What’s happened?” Hermione followed him out of the room.

He told her and she made a frustrated noise he hadn’t heard since she’d worn Slytherin’s locket in the Forest of Dean. Harry noticed she looked much the same as she’d done then: dark circles around her eyes, hollow cheeks, and hair tied back messily. 

The pair took the secret passage back to Hogsmeade and apparated to Mungo’s from there. 

“What on earth…  _ Retly _ !” Hermione ran to the elf, “Retly, what are you  _ doing _ ?”

“Leverage, Miss Granger!” he beamed, somehow oblivious to her distress, “Just like you taught us -”

“No, no,” she shook her head rapidly, “ _ Not _ just like I taught you. Retly, Gwap, everyone!” the witch stood back to address the parading crowd, “I  _ know _ you’re all upset after the verdict, so am I, but this is creating a  _ terrible _ scene. You want to show the wizarding world that you can  _ cooperate _ with them to achieve a  _ better _ and more  _ equal _ society, but they can’t grant you what you wish if they’re busy dealing with the Muggles, do you understand? Go home, all of you! We will regroup and rethink our strategy. We  _ will _ have justice -  _ peacefully _ .”

“We  _ are _ marching peacefully, Miss Gran-”

“ _ Now _ , Retly,” Hermione told him sternly, “take everyone home.”

The elf’s ears, wrinkled eyelids, and skin-and-bone shoulders drooped. He snapped his fingers and the street was clear. 

“I have to get back to class,” she turned to Harry, “Can you handle it from here?”

“Yeah, the Obliviat-ahem,” his green eyes darted nervously towards the darkly cloaked wizards wiping the Muggles’ memories of the last thirty minutes, “Yeah, we got it.”

She was barely listening to him anyway and when she apparated into Hogsmeade, she was a couple paces off and landed in a tree. 

“Ow,” Hermione picked the twigs out of her hair and made tracks for the Three Broomsticks. She needed a drink and as much as she loved her Transfiguration professor, his goat-cheese-inspired brews were atrocious. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Comments? *cute elf eyes* Kudos?  
> Tumblr: [@littlejeanniebean](https://littlejeanniebean.tumblr.com/)


	4. Purebloods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everybody's in love with somebody  
> Everybody's sore about something  
> Everybody has it in for somebody  
> Everybody's running from something

“ _ Abbott to Emergency _ !” 

“Abbott reporting!” she used one of the intra-hospital floos to get there as quickly as possible, “Patient?”

“Narcissa Black Malfoy, 44. Crushed rib-cage stabilized by temporary scaffolding. Heart rate dropping -  _ Healer _ !”

“She… She’s a  _ Death Eater _ !” the girl cried, backing away from the woman’s levitated, unconscious body.

“She’s a  _ patient _ , Abbott!”

“I  _ won’t _ treat her!  _ Not _ after what she did! What her  _ family _ did!”

“ _ Abbott _ !”

“She  _ deserves _ to die!”

“That’s  _ enough _ ! You are relieved of duty until further notice, Abbott,” said the Head of Emergency, “I want you to think long and hard about the responsibility you swore to undertake. St. Mungo’s does  _ not _ discriminate!”

“Now that we’re not at war, of course, that is the convenient stance for you to take,” Hannah Abbott whirled around, white cloak flapping angrily, and floo’ed to the Leaky Cauldron.

The bartender looked up, not expecting any of his regulars this early, nevermind a St. Mungo’s Healer who just happened to be one of his former classmates. “Hannah?”

“Neville...” the anger dissipated from her face momentarily. Then with an annoyed wave of her wand, she let down her long, blonde hair, “Firewhiskey, please.”

“Sure,” he charmed the bottle and the shot glass to serve the customer on their own accord, “Rough morning?”

“I just… I don’t understand…” she frowned, downed her shot in one go, and fixed him with a desperate look, “You wouldn’t either, would you? Not after what they did to your parents…”

“I… I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” he lowered his voice.

She told him what had happened, her knuckles growing white as she held her next shot in a tightly clenched fist. 

“I see…” the bartender halted the bottle before it could pour her another shot, “Did you know that she lied to Voldemort’s face?”

“What are you on about? You-Know-Who was a Legimens.  _ No one _ could -”

“No one  _ dared _ , except for her. She told him Harry was dead so that we could win. Harry told me himself.”

“But Harry _was_ dead!” Hannah shook her head, “That’s what _the_ _Prophet_ said! He used the Resurrection Stone -”

“Was the article written by Rita Skeeter by any chance?”

“I… I don’t remem-”

“I’m not saying that one act on her part absolves her. But she doesn’t bear the dark mark either. After we defeated the Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries - Lucius Malfoy included - they lost all favour with Voldemort -”

“Please stop saying his name -”

“It’s just a name, Hannah,” he looked into her lost blue eyes earnestly, “It’s just a name now. And we’re all just people now. All just trying to get on with it.”

The girl huffed and took up the bottle herself, “Easy for you to say, I suppose. Bellatrix is dead.”

“I’m not going to argue with you about who has it harder.”

“I didn’t come here for an argument,” she tugged the bottle from his hand, “I came here for a drink.”

Neville went back to his book on plants.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, putting two sickles on the counter, “You’re right. It’s been a rough morning.”

“I’ll stay out of your business,” he put the coins in his pocket, “if that’s what you want.”

“No… I mean… I’d better… contact my department head… It’s really nice to see you again, Neville… outside of… everything.”

“You too, Hannah.”

She stepped backward into the floo and was gone in a puff of smoke.

*****

“Hey, ‘Mione!” Ginny bounded over to where her friend was hunched over a wooden desk in the common room, “You coming?”

“Coming where?” the witch asked in a daze, her hair even more frizzy than usual.

“Hogsmeade,” the redhead said patiently, “It’s Saturday.”

“Oh… I don’t think I’ll be going… Too much work…”

“Alright… if you’re sure…” she attempted to pry out a more favourable response, but got none, “I’ll get you some sweets from Honeydukes,” she decided and met Luna outside the portrait hole.

Hermione stared down at the first round of essays they’d just gotten back. Two EE’s, four A’s, and five P’s. Her professors were just as shocked as she was and offered her the chance to rewrite them by Monday for re-grading and that was what she was going to do. 

As promised, Ginny brought back seven chocolate frogs, a box of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans, and three large Cauldron Cakes. She was in the lead of the gaggle of Gryffindors, of course, and immediately stopped and shushed them when she saw that Hermione was asleep in front of the fire, the end of her Charms essay scroll dangerously close to the flames. Quickly, she cast an organizing charm on her friends’ things and banished them to their dorm.

Then she whispered, “ _ Wingardium Leviosa _ ,” and brought the dreaming Hermione upstairs. 

_ Ron… He got splinched! _

_ Don’t touch her! _

_ No! You can have me, keep me! _

_ GET INSIDE! Take cover! TAKE COVER! _

_ We'll have to, to reach the snake! But let's not lose sight now of what we're supposed to be d-doing! We're the only ones who can end it! _

A chill came over Hermione as Ginny brought her higher up into the tower and she jolted awake. Her friend tried to keep her from falling, but she could feel the levitation spell around her and, in a fit of instinct, she threw it off and stumbled to her feet. 

“... end it… end it…”

“Shh, shh…” Ginny soothed.

She rubbed viciously at her bleary eyes, “Ginny? What…”

“It was just a bad dream,” the other girl summoned a house elf and asked for a cuppa laced with Draught of Peace, “It’s alright.”

“It’s not going to work.”

“What’s not?” the redhead led her to sit more comfortably at the foot of her bed.

“The potion. I’ve been taking it. Still can’t sleep right.”

Ginny hugged her tightly and cast a smoothing spell on her hair - a poor substitute for a full Sleakeazy treatment, but working out the knots was always therapeutic. “You know… I couldn’t go to the girls’ room alone for ages after my first year.”

“... When did it stop?”

“Oh, around… late fourth year, I’d say -”

Hermione made a despairing noise.

“It’s hard when something like that can’t be avoided. Everyone has to go to the toilet sometime…”

The elf came back with the cuppa and Hermione drank it greedily. 

“Wake me, alright?” Ginny made her promise, “Wake me if you have another dream or can’t get to sleep.”

But in two hours, Hermione was sitting alone in her bed, sorting her Bertie Bott’s Beans, nibbling on a squirming chocolate frog, and re-stacking her cauldron cakes. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to confide in her friend. It was just... difficult to talk about it. And Ginny was snoring very heavily, which meant she was in a very deep sleep and she had the same difficult classes to manage on top of Quidditch, so Hermione didn’t want to bother her with a problem that had no solution in sight. 

She asked the elf assigned to their tower for a Pepper-Up Potion at six in the morning and got back to work. She hadn’t gotten as much done as she would have liked the day before.

“Why don’t you come with us to Hogsmeade today?” Ginny tried again, “The brain always works better after a break.”

“I’m on a roll,” Hermione insisted, sipping her coffee laced with her third Pepper-Up of the day. Her Potions essay was rubbish. Slughorn had been generous with an A. She could do much better and she did know exactly how, but her fingers would slip and she’d spell the wrong word or she’d repeat herself because she’d forgotten what she’d written a paragraph ago. But to Ginny, she only said, “Go on, go on. I’ll see you tonight.”

So Ginny met Luna outside the portrait hole and linked her arms with hers, “I’m worried about ‘Mione.”

“Yes, it seems the wrackspurts have infected her capillum,” said the blonde, nodding sagely, “She ought to go out into a meadow or a bog and dance with fireflies. Wrackspurts are deathly afraid of fireflies.”

The pair continued to discuss the logistics of somehow getting Hermione - who seemed very determined to stay locked in her tower - to a meadow or a bog.

“I suppose the shore of the Black Lake will do. Dragonflies are also -” Luna stopped short and whipped her wand out of her messy bun, “Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Ginny’s hand went to her wand in the back pocket of her jeans.

The other girl sniffed the air delicately, whispered a charm that changed the wind’s direction, and sniffed again.

“I smell it!” said the redhead, “Fire!”

“It’s coming from the Shrieking Shack!” Luna took off in that direction.

Athletic Ginny overtook her quickly and almost bouldered over a mother elf and her child running away from the heavy smoke and flames. 

“This innit a charity home, beasts!” a pimpled fourth-year Slytherin ran them out of the shack, “ _ Incendio _ !”

“ _ Reducto _ !” said another, “This is what happens when you ungrateful savages forget who your true masters are!”

“ _ Aguamenti _ !” Ginny cast at the structure, already blackened beyond burning any further, “Pick on someone your own size, you wankers!”

Behind her, Luna had sent a patronus to McGonagall and was helping the elves do a headcount since she could easily see over all of them. “ _ Ginny _ ! They’re missing a youngling! Name’s Selly! Born free, so she can’t be summoned!” 

“Merlin’s _ fucking  _ beard!” she rounded on the two fourth-years who were already running away, knowing who she was and the exact hexes she was famous for pulling out of her extensive repertoire when her cheeks were made to match the color of her hair. 

Ginny ran into the smoking structure, casting reinforcement charms as she went, but even those couldn’t do much when the state of the original supports were as bad as it was.

“Selly!” she called out, “Selly, where are you?”

A breathless moan came from underneath what might have been a bread tin.

Ginny lifted off the elf with a quick levitation charm and drew the shaken youngling to her chest slowly. “Let’s get out of here, yeah? S’alright...”

The rafters above her creaked and splintered suddenly. She dove for the nearest doorway and braced against it as the shack came down around them. The youngling screamed in terror. 

Meanwhile, Hermione had decided to visit Hogsmeade after all. Just to buy one of those quills she could dictate to, she told herself, and maybe a quick Butterbeer to sooth her nerves. 

Suddenly, a wizard materialized in front of her and she walked straight into him with a small ‘ _ oof _ ,’ “Harry! What are you doing here?”

“I had the day off. I was going meet Gin-”

A terrible scream ripped through the air and they both dashed towards the sound immediately. 

“ _ Ginny _ !” Harry cried, throwing a protective bubble around her before casting a powerful clearing charm on the sharp debris.

“I’m alright,” she assured him quickly, although her lips and cheeks were pale.

The dark-haired boy tried to pull her into a hug.

“Don’t squish the youngling!” she held him just a bit away before tiptoeing to kiss his cheek, so he knew all was well.

While Ginny brought the youngling back to Luna and the elves, Harry sought out Hermione, who had frozen, wand in hand, but arm limp at her side. 

“Hermione?” he called on her quietly.

“I… I knew they’d had to squat… They’ve been trying to relocate, but a lot of wizards of property don’t want to sell to them -”

“ _ No _ ,” he said sternly, “ _ Don’t _ do that. This  _ isn’t _ -”

“ _ What _ ?” she argued, “Don’t tell me this isn’t -”

“It’s  _ not _ -”

“- my  _ fault _ !” she blinked her watery brown eyes rapidly and her lips quivered. 

Harry tried again, “You’re doing everything you can to get them on the Wizengamot -”

“Well, didn’t that just work out -”

“You’re helping them take advantage of the new Gringotts loans that are open to all creatures -”

“But even those are pending rev-”

“You’re working with Percy to loosen travel restrictions for the centaurs and giants -”

“Unrelated -”

“ _ Hermione _ -”

“ _ Harry _ …” the girl sighed and rubbed her cheeks with both hands, “I… Do you… do you get… dreams?”

“You mean nightmares?” he caught on quickly.

She nodded, feeling pathetic, “Yeah… and do you ever just… think a noise is…”

“Something more dangerous than it really is?”

“Yes!” Hermione began to pace, holding her hands behind her back, “I’ve been reading about PTSD - it’s a Muggle -”

“I know.”

“Oh. Right. Ever since the battle, I...”

Harry nodded, “That’s partly why I… wasn’t ready to come back. Hogwarts is my home and… I’ve seen it burn… I can’t… unsee that and… it’s going to be a while before I feel safe in there again…”

“I feel silly. Ginny seems fine…”

“We talked about that, actually,” said Harry, “I think you should too.”

“Talked about what?” the girl in question rejoined them after relating what had happened to McGonagall, who’d just arrived on the scene. 

“Er…” Hermione bit her lip, then threw up her hands suddenly, deciding she was just tired of it all, “Hogwarts… My inability to sleep a wink… The bad dreams… all of it.”

Ginny looped an arm through hers before turning to Harry, “Rain check on that date?”

“Oh, no!” her bushy hair bounced across her shoulders when she shook her head that fast, “You two go! Right now! I insist!”

“It’s fine,” Harry assured her, “My ticket book is literally burning a hole in my pocket. I reckon the Muggle kids must’ve heard the elf scream or summat -” he fished the smoking booklet out of his pocket and it was covered in frantic scribblings, “Yep… Rain check it is!” 

The wizard kissed his girlfriend quickly before disapparating. 

“So, here’s my theory,” Ginny launched right into it as she walked back to where Luna was waiting, “because I spent so much time hiding out at Hogwarts with the D.A. and genuinely fearing the Carrows and Snape, I’ve sort of… adapted not to mind it so much, you know? Oh, and Luna knows a thing or two about this as well -”

“I  _ was _ kidnapped straight from my own home,” the girl said in her floaty voice.

Hermione tried not to show how unnerved she was by that statement, “Well, I’ve read about two healthy strategies…”

After a lengthy discussion with the girls, a tentative decision, her first good sleep in three weeks, another lengthy discussion with McGonagall, and an owl to Harry, Ron, Percy, and Mrs. Weasley, Hermione decided to leave Hogwarts. Percy was a qualified tutor and agreed to help her prepare to challenge the N.E.W.T.s, as many homeschooled wizards, like Luna’s Rolf Scamander, did when they turned seventeen. 

Naturally, it was front-page news that the brightest witch of her age was dropping out in the middle of the school year, but she couldn’t bring herself to care as she dove directly - and most importantly, happily - into continuing her fight for the magical creatures. 

*****

“Godric, I hate this place,” Ron shivered, looking up at the dark, austere pillars of Malfoy Manor. 

“I know what you went through here during the war,” said Angelina considerately, “You can sit this one -”

“No, no,” he rolled his shoulders and shifted his feet, “Let’s have it.”

The witch rapped the enchanted knocker.

A tall, blond boy with a pointed nose and hard gray eyes opened the door, “Weasley.”

“Malfoy. You remember Johnson.”

“Come in,” he led them to the parlour directly adjacent to the foyer, “I haven’t touched anything. Everything is as it was when they left.”

“You did a good job of fighting them off,” Angelina surveyed the damage caused by at least four wands, not including those of the homeowners.

"I wasn't alone."

"How is your mum?" she asked.

"Just now stabilized and conscious and the first thing she tells me is to secure the manor," he scoffed at her misplaced priorities.

"There's a bit of a blown-off mask here…" Ron levitated it to eye-level, "Did you see a face?"

Malfoy shook his head, "It was too dark. There were four of them. Two wizards. Two witches. Not the best technique, but…"

"But what?" he asked impatiently, his training master cutting him a warning glare in response.

"They were angry. It made their spells powerful."

"No dark magic or Unforgivables," Angelina reported, "We'll get this mask into evidence. If you remember anything else or anyone bothers you again -"

"They won't. I've put up new wards."

Ron offered a business card that wasn't his, "My brother, Bill -"

"I know your brother and his wife have gone private, Weasley. But the best security is personal."

"Suit yourself," he shrugged.

"I do remember something else," the other boy addressed Angelina, "the one who got his face blown off… his right hand was gloved."

"So?" asked Ron.

"None of the others wore gloves. His left hand, holding his wand, was bare. I don't know… It might not be important."

"We appreciate every little detail," the witch assured him, "What kind of glove?"

"Black… thick. Unwieldy."

"That's helpful," Ron muttered sarcastically.

At the same time, Angelina spoke loudly over him, "We'll be in touch."

The second they were out the door, she rounded on her trainee, "You told me you were fine."

"With the house apparently. Just not the people in it."

"Ron," her tone was one that commanded silence, "You're an auror. Of a new ministry. I'm not asking you to move on if you're not ready, but you've got a job to do. We don't get to choose who we help."

"No, apparently, just the species," he still got livid whenever he thought about Hermione's last letter. 

"You found the mask," she banished it to her desk at the ministry, "You take it apart at the office. Find out where it came from. If there's any usable DNA on it -"

"Throw it in a polyjuice, I know. What are you going to do?"

"Talk to the other witness. Malfoy said his mum's awake now."

The aurors stepped out of the new wards and disapparated. 

Ron floo'ed from Leaky to the ministry, waving to Neville as he passed. He couldn't separate enough bits of eyelashes and skin flakes for a polyjuice, but he did find initials sewn in the lining -  _ T.C. _ \- and more importantly: it was handsewn; no magic. He paid Garland a visit up in Muggle Liaison and asked for a “phone book.” 

“Timaria Cooledge… Medieval Costumes and Props…” he memorized the address and returned the weighty book, “Thanks, Garland.”

He checked the squib registry - the name sounded familiar - but he found none in recent times. Some wizarding families simply went completely Muggle over the years. 

He floo’ed back to Leaky and swiped his auror’s badge to get on the tube to Suffolk. 

“Timaria Cooledge?” he walked up to the young woman behind the counter.

“Yes?” she looked him up and down and Ron stiffened as he realized he’d forgotten about his robes, “Oh, yes, you’ve come to right place, that so-called  _ cloak _ is -”

“I just came to ask about this mask,” the auror gave it to her to examine, “It’s from your shop, innit?”

She checked the lining, saw her initials, and nodded, “Yes, it is… Er… Do you need a replacement?” 

“I need to know who bought it,” he flipped the Muggle-Worthy switch on his auror’s badge before raising it.

“Oh… I see…” Timaria tugged hard on the drawer on her side of the counter but it wouldn’t budge, “Sorry, just one moment.”

“Take your time.”

She gave the drawer another strong tug, but its contents just quivered without revealing themselves, “The receipts are just -”

“May I?”

“Please,” she lifted the counter top for him to step into the little space with her.

Ron bent over the counter and hid his wand in his cloak as he whispered an un-sticking charm, then pulled. “Voilà.”

“Aren’t you a magician!” Timaria praised him and rooted through the drawer for the receipt, “Here you are, Detective,” she grinned up at him, “I remember the bloke who bought it too. Usually I get big orders - you know, for sets and festivals and stuff - and well, it’s not Hallowe’en and even then, it’s quite unusual for anyone to come in for just one item.”

“Just one?”

“Yes.”

“Not four?”

“No.”

“And no one else bought a mask like this?”

“Not exactly like it, no.”

“This design…” Ron held the mask up to the light once more. The soft silk lining was sewn into the back of a cool silver metal, not unlike a Death Eater’s mask. “It’s not very popular?”

“It's the Phantom of the Opera, although he asked for it in full-face silver, why?”

“I’m not sure yet…” he smiled winningly at her and her pale cheeks bloomed rosy, “Tell me what else you remember about the man.”

“Right, um… brown hair, blue eyes - not like yours, er… his were lighter… erm… about… half a foot shorter than yourself… um… and he had on a glove on his right hand. Black. Wool, I think. The fingers…” the woman began to chew her lip.

The auror leaned in curiously, “What about the fingers?”

“Well… I make puppets too, you see,” she began, “and… I could be mistaken, but he had these branching scars you could barely see under his shirt collar,” she tilted her head to the side slightly and touched the spot just above her collarbone. “Well… the fingers in his gloves were… very still -  _ stiff _ … like a puppet’s. You see, even when we aren’t doing anything with our hands,” she held onto his that lay on the counter, purely as an example, of course, “they rest in such a way that is flexible and fluid… and with his injuries… I’d say it…  _ could _ be a prosthetic? And one he isn’t comfortable with using just yet.”

“Thank you very much, Ms. Cooledge,” Ron patted her hand, put the mask back in his cloak pocket, and lifted the counter top. He knew just where to look next. 

“You’re welcome, Detective! Do stop by again if you have any more questions!” she called after him. After he was gone, she whispered to herself, “Do stop by again? God's sakes, Timaria, desperate much? … He was rather fit though, wasn’t he? And now you’re talking to yourself! God’s sakes...”

The auror stepped into the seamstress’ shop’s back alley and disapparated to St. Mungo’s reception area. 

“Ron, what are you doing here?” Angelina had just finished questioning Narcissa Malfoy in the presence of her attending healer, Hannah Abbott, to no avail. 

“I have a lead. Hi,” he said to the wizard behind the counter, “I’m looking for a wizard by the name of Edward D. Martin. Got a prosthetic in his right hand, possibly right arm. Cruciatus scars all the way up to here,” he pointed at the spot on his neck that Timaria had shown him.

“I’ll have a look for you,” the man disapparated.

Ron turned back to his training master, “Any luck with -”

“No. It was dark. She suspects disillusionment charms.”

“But they weren’t casting to kill?”

“Apparently not.”

“We have an Edward D. Martin on file. A prosthetic right hand. Cruciatus scars up from there to his collarbone.”

“Brown hair, light blue eyes?” asked Ron.

“Yes.”

“Can we get his address?” 

“Do you have a warrant?”

Angelina rolled her eyes and sent a patronus to Bardin, who sent the warrant by floo after a tedious hour of waiting. 

“Here’s the address,” said the wizard, once he was satisfied with looking over the document. “Have a lovely day.”

“What an arsehole,” Ron muttered once they’d disapparated to an empty alley in Shoreditch.

“It’s just the rules, Ron,” Angelina reminded him, “They protect us all.”

The aurors tugged on the Muggle-Worthy chain in the inner pocket of their cloaks before stepping out onto the busy street. 

“He lives above the Mastiff’s,” Angelina pointed at the pub with the big dog on it’s signage. 

They climbed up the stairs on the outside of the brick building to a heavy metal door. 

“ _ Alohamora _ ,” she opened it. 

A brown-haired, light-blue-eyed young man leapt to his feet, his wand raised at her head, but Ron disarmed him with a quick  _ Expelliarmus _ .

“ _ Incarcerous _ ,” he cleared the rest of the apartment, “Edward Martin, you’re under arrest for the attack on Malfoy Manor. Where are your associates?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he shook his head nonchalantly.

“The wizard and two witches you attacked with.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Merlin, he’s really going to make us do Veritaserum paperwork?” Ron looked to Angelina.

“You don’t want to do that, Edward,” she reclined on his couch and studied him, “Come on, ‘fess up and you won’t even get Azkaban on account of the fact that you didn’t actually try to kill them.”

“ _ They’re  _ the ones who should be in Azkaban!” he growled bitterly.

“They’ve done their time. One of them is still serving, as a matter of fact -”

“If  _ the Chosen One _ won’t make them answer for what they did to us - to Muggleborns -”

“Harry’s done everything,” Ron defended, “to make the war reparations equitable -”

“I was _there_! I _fought_ in the Battle of Hogwarts! He’s a _bloody_ _wimp_ is what he is! A _bloody_ _political_ _tool_ -”

Ron had a hex on the tip of his tongue, but Angelina held him back.

“Veritaserum, it is,” he took the Muggleborn along in a side-apparition while his training master did a final sweep of the apartment, but found no evidence of any other persons living there nor frequent communications - magical or otherwise. 

They sat him down with silencing charms around Angelina’s cubicle. 

“Who were your accomplices in the attack on Malfoy Manor?” Ron asked clearly.

“Me, myself, and I,” Edward drawled tonelessly.

“How were there two wizards and two witches seen, then?” Angelina tried.

“Timed corporeal gemini charm,” he mumbled, “Modified it to work on transfigured mannequins.”

“How did you get them to cast spells?” asked Ron.

“I was the sole caster.”

“But it looked like all of you were attacking?” 

“Animation charms.”

“Where’d you get the wands?” asked Angelina.

“My landlord’s backyard.”

“So they’re fake?” Ron rubbed his nose.

“Yes.”

They worked out the minutiae of the case for their files, but it was pretty straight-forward from there - a revenge motive, a powerful Muggleborn underestimated throughout his time at Hogwarts. 

“Just out of curiosity,” Ron killed the last few seconds before the potion wore off, “Why don’t you ever use your prosthetic? It’d serve you better than using your non-dominant hand.”

“I don’t trust the spells they put on it,” his tone was regaining some of its earlier bitterness, “Those baboons at Mungo’s - they’re swimming in dirty pureblooded money.”

*****

A standard barn owl settled on the sill of Draco Malfoy’s bedroom window late that night. 

He beckoned it over with a treat in hand.

The owl perched on his nightstand and dropped a letter bearing only his name. 

_ Drop a thousand galleons into the hollow sleeping tree in New Forest National Park at midnight or we’ll come for you again. No aurors. _

He scoffed, addressing the bird, “An amateur, eh? Sent it off before he knew he’d gotten away with it,” and with that, he dissolved the ransom note to ash and went to sleep. 

_ But I got this far, didn’t I? They thought I’d die in the attempt, but I’m here… and you’re in my power… I’m the one with the wand… you’re at my mercy…  _

_ Someone's dead. One of your people… I don't know who, it was dark… I stepped over the body… I was supposed to be waiting up here when you got back, only your Phoenix lot got in the way. _

_ I'm Draco Malfoy, I'm Draco, I'm on your side! _

His eyes flew open suddenly as a searing pain ripped through his body. A dark figure loomed above him, disillusioned. Draco reached for his wand on his nightstand, but the figure never let his fingers go beyond the edge of the mattress. He could hear his own screams in his ears more than he registered actually making a sound. It crossed his mind briefly to be thankful and just a little bit afraid that his mother wasn’t home. 

“ _ Sectumsempra _ ,” a garbled voice intoned, just before he blacked out. 

_ “The Weird Sisters?” he’d wrinkled his nose. _

_ “One simply can’t live on Celestina Warbeck alone,” she’d giggled. _

_ “The Hobgoblins at least have real musical talent.” _

_ “You’re just an old man trapped in a little boy’s body, aren’t you? Tell me, do you ever do anything for fun?” _

_ “Oh, sure, I once invented a nonsense spell that turns the caster’s hair neon green.” _

_ “Prove it,” she’d taken him seriously and challenged him. _

_ He invented it on the spot and she showed him a nonsense spell of her own - they’d spent the rest of Daphne Greengrass’ once-boring party listening to everyone talk on helium.  _

“Draco, Draco, Draco,” a soft voice urged, “wake up, wake up, wake up -”

“Shh,” he mumbled, “‘Storia…”

“Draco Malfoy, wake up and say something sensible!”

“Merlin…” he blinked. His window had been enchanted so that the sunlight streaming through it was amplified, “Wha…” his gray eyes landed on the words painted in blood on his ceiling.  _ PAY UP, MURDERER. AT NOON. _

Astoria Greengrass was crying.

“C’mere,” he reached his arm out to her and winced, noticing his bandages for the first time, “Are you hurt? Did you have to fight him off?”

She shook her head, tucking herself in beside him, “I wish I’d had. I’d’ve finished him,” the little brunette witch punched her little fist into her little hand opposite.

Her boyfriend chuckled despite himself.

“I  _ would’ve _ !” the witch insisted.

Draco turned serious, “You didn’t call anyone, did you?”

“I would’ve if you’d died on me,” she whispered, “but since you didn’t, I thought it best to wait in case… in case you knew each other.”

Draco frowned, “He used a spell Snape invented… at least… I think it was a ‘he.’”

“... Can the aurors -”

“No,” the timing of the ransom note suddenly made sense to him, “No aurors. They waited until after the aurors had closed the case so I’d have to report a new one. They’ll know and they’ll...”

“Don’t worry. Gringotts opens in another hour,” she yawned,  _ Scourifying  _ the bloodied sheets and her own bloodied robes - his blood, “You can withdraw the galleons then… well before noon.”

The boy let her fall asleep. How long had she been there, trying to save him, not knowing whether she should get help or if it would make things worse?

Apart from the odd “Alright, Malfoy?” she used to offer him in his sixth year, her sister’s party was their longest actual interaction. He really couldn’t understand why she had flown to his window on her Firebolt the night after said party, but he’d summoned his Nimbus 2001 and followed her aimlessly over Wiltshire. 

She came back the next night, and the night after that. Neither of them were much for talking when they were alone. Then she’d kissed him. Then she’d met his mother properly at Rosa Lee’s. Then she was snoring lightly in his arms after saving his life. Draco couldn’t understand it. 

“You should sleep too,” she murmured. 

“Money’s tied up, do you think your father would give me a loan?”

At this, she sat up, alert once more, “Define ‘tied up.’”

“You know,” he waved with a perfected dismissive air, “long-term invest-”

“Don’t lie to me, Draco.”

“... He can take the manor as collateral -”

“The  _ manor _ ?” 

“Well, Mother will be upset -”

“To  _ hell _ with your mother! I mean… I’m sorry, that’s not...” she touched her lips lightly, “Did the reparations committee really hit you that bad?”

“We deserved worse,” he said, “Listen, Mother and Father wanted to save face, so you can’t tell any-”

“Father will know if you put the manor down as collateral. Do you really have nothing else?”

“I’m not risking putting any dark objects back into circulation.”

Astoria nodded, “Then I’ll get Mother to give me an advance on my allowance.”

“‘Storia -”

“How much do you need?” she stood.

“I can’t ask -”

“And you haven’t,” the girl smoothed the lines across his forehead and kissed him deeply, “How much?”

“... A thousand galleons.”

If the witch had doubts that she could get the money, she didn’t betray them before disapparating. Quarter to noon, she came back with an extended-charmed pouch, “I’m sorry I took so long -”

“You’re right on time,” he assured her, “I’ll pay you back, I promise. Wait here -”

“No, I’m going with -”

The boy disapparated with a quiet  _ pop! _ before she could finish and he hadn’t told her where the drop was. 

“Draco, I’m home!” Narcissa floo’ed into the parlour downstairs.

Astoria told her he had gone out on an errand and fixed her tea, but in her worry, she lost concentration mid-charm and almost dropped the cups.

“Are you quite alright, Astoria?” asked Mrs. Malfoy.

“Yes, and yourself? I’m glad you’re out of Mungo’s.”

“You and me both, but it seems my own son couldn’t be bothered,” she sighed with a calculated amount of forlornness that made the girl’s skin prickle. 

Footsteps sounded down the stairs. 

“Draco!” Astoria ran to him and whispered, “Alright?” 

“Yeah,” he kissed her forehead, then saw his mother in the parlour and stiffened. The boy was glad he’d apparated back into his room and cast a repaint charm on his ceiling - the blood couldn’t be removed, for it was stuck with dark magic. 

“Well, aren’t you going to give your mother a kiss too?” Narcissa put her hands on her hips.

He walked over and kissed her cheek, “Welcome home. How did they treat you?”

“Hmmph, better treatment than I get here, certainly. Oh, we should invite the Abbotts over for dinner some time. They’re nice pureblood wizards.”

“Sure,” Draco spoke tightly, “Astoria and I are going out.”

The words were scarcely out of his mouth before he took his girlfriend’s hand and disapparated to their private Quidditch pitch. 

“You’re really not going to tell her?” she held him back when he went for their brooms, “I think she’d understand -”

“If I tell her, she’ll tell Father, who will inevitably come up with some half-arsed plot to even the score between us and whoever attacked me, which will get us all into deeper  _ shit _ than we’re already in,” Draco pinched the thin, aristocratic bridge of his pale nose and sighed out through it, “I… care… for my parents, I do… I just... don’t believe they’ve got it all right at times…”

“I can understand that,” said Astoria, just as a sleek Northern white-faced owl perched atop the broom shed and dropped a letter at their feet. The bird then flew away, indicating that a response was not needed. 

Draco picked it up warily, as it bore his name, and read it, “I… I have a job waiting for me in Italy.”

“Blaise?”

He nodded distractedly. 

“Will you go?”

He nodded again.

“Will you write to me?”

The boy froze like he wasn’t expecting that question, “Do you want me to?”

“Do  _ you _ want to?”

“... I wouldn’t want to be a bother -”

At the same time she said, “I know I forced myself onto you -”

“ _ What _ ?” he laughed, “No, you didn’t -”

“Well, why else would you hold me at a distance?”

“Why…?” he looked at the patch of grass beside them like it held the answers, “I… don’t… I don’t!”

“Right.”

“I  _ don’t _ !”

“Mmhmm.”

“I’ll write to you.”

“Only if you want to.”

He kissed her breathless and promised, “I want to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Constructive feedback is always welcome, I love reading your comments!!  
> Tumblr: [@littlejeanniebean](https://littlejeanniebean.tumblr.com/) :)


	5. We Write Our Own Stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously: The elves are attacked, Hermione decides to drop out of Hogwarts, Ron and Angelina catch Malfoy's attacker, Draco takes a job with Blaise in Italy...

“Do you have something smaller? That I can carry?” asked the young woman nervously.

“Something you can carry?” Draco repeated, tapping the plain, unassuming Muggle contraption about the size of a toaster on his desk. He hadn’t a clue how it was supposed to work. He just charmed it with security wards for a certain radius and handed it off to Zabini’s clients. 

“I’m scared someone is following me,” she was speaking Italian, but Draco wore a charmed necklace that allowed him to speak to and understand her perfectly. 

“ _ Zabini _ !” came a roar from outside.

Draco took his wand in his hand as the door was broken down by a Muggle man who wore all black and leather despite Italy’s heat. Five muscular thugs followed in behind him, carrying what the boy recognized as a Muggle wand that could only cast to kill.

“Mr. Marcetta,” Blaise seemed unperturbed, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Your so-called security system just let one of the Benoti’s hounds in!” he threw down a contraption like the one Draco had on his desk and it broke in half, several wires springing loose. “And then I hear from Tina Benoti -”

“The girl who wants to be a model?” the businessman raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Tina is most  _ intelligent _ ,  _ seductive  _ -”

He sighed with boredom, “What did your little girlfriend say that’s got your knickers in a twist?”

“You’re looking to help the Benoti’s take over.”

“That’s absurd.”

“Is it?” the man put a Muggle photograph on the table. It showed Blaise talking to Georgio Benoti on the terrace upstairs after hours. 

Draco looked at his friend, but he had nothing to say anymore.

The man named Marcetta took out his own Muggle wand and pointed it at the boy’s head. 

From behind his desk, Draco cast a protection ward around his young client, who was frozen in fear, and not a second later, the other Muggles lifted their wands and riddled the office in tiny metal pieces.

*****

“Now hold  _ very _ still,” Luna Lovegood instructed the dark-haired boy, who was sitting on a magically enlarged toadstool in the Forbidden Forest.

“You’ve done this before, right?”

“That includes your mouth, Harry.”

“Sorry,” he pursed his lips together as she recited a lengthy incantation.

“Now, a big ‘ah,’” she held her jaw open, “so that I can sharpen your teeth.”

He scratched at his hair - messier and of a lighter shade than it’s ever been - and was frustrated at the lack of fingers on paws, “I think I look enough unlike me, don’t you?”

“Hmm… let me just,” she conjured a bright, Gryffindor-red ribbon and tied it over his now furry forehead, “There, now your scar is hidden.”

“Thanks, Luna,” he got up and spun around suddenly at the sound of swishing behind him.

The girl laughed, “That’s your tail, silly.”

“My -” he reached behind him and picked it up, “Huh. You thought of everything.”

“I take my mascotting duties very seriously. Now, come on, or we won’t get good seats!”

Dennis Creevey did his customary high-low-high whistle to get everyone’s attention, “Witches, wizards, and lion,” he waved at a disguised Harry, who waved back, “Welcome to the first match of the season! On this bright and windy autumn day, boy, do we have a game for you! Let’s have our teams: first up, the silver and green kings and queens… SLYTHERIN HOUSE!”

The west side of the pitch erupted in cheers as the aforementioned team zoomed out from under the stands. 

“And now let’s have: the red and gold, proud and bold… GRYFFINDOR HOUSE!”

The opposite end of the pitch exploded in screams for the team, soaring onto the pitch.

Harry did his best roar when Ginny, the captain’s badge shining on her robes swooped up grandly to face the other captain, Astoria Greengrass, who was just back from a personal health absence.

“The poor girl, I don’t understand why they make her play,” Luna shook her head, “She’s a brilliant seeker, but the Nargles have been bothering her relentlessly.”

“What do you mean?” asked the bespectacled lion.

“She’s under a lot of stress because the Nargles keep taking the things she likes best. It’s alright, though. I’ll put up lots of mistletoe in the Astronomy tower to attract them away from the dungeons.”

“... Great idea.”

Astoria was indeed a brilliant seeker, and caught the elusive snitch, but not before Ginny and her chasers outplayed all of Slytherin’s for a lead of a hundred and seventy points. 

Harry made a pretty good mascot, swishing his tail, roaring, running up and down the stands, and finally leaping onto the pitch to smother all the players with snuggles. 

“I dare you to kiss our new mascot, Gin!” Luna giggled.

The team captain blushed, turned around and met the lion’s mischievous green eyes for the first time as he held his arms out to her playfully. 

She snaked her arms around his waist, booped her nose against his, and whispered, “Harry?”

“Hi,” he whispered back.

Ginny laughed and pecked his cheek to hoots and laughter.

“Ah,” he hissed, and struggled to take his ticketbook out of his plain black cloak with fingerless paws. 

Jeremia Podmore’s fine handwriting instructed,  _ Meet me in Three Broomsticks. Portkeying to Italy. Urgent. _

“Duty calls?” his girlfriend swung their held hands idly.

“Congratulations, Gin,” he kissed her cheek, whiskers tickling her ear, “Luna, I need to change back. Now.”

The capable witch nodded and led him back to the isolated spot in the forest. Once he was back to normal - no more odd patches of fur about his person - Luna beckoned a thestral.

“Junie will take you into the village,” she said.

“Thanks, Luna,” he mounted the beast, “Thanks, Junie.”

*****

Jeremia Podmore paid for her Butterbeer and threw open the door into Harry Potter’s face.

“Ow!” he held his forehead. It wasn’t hard enough for him to develop  _ another _ scar, but his partner showed not the slightest remorse as she held out a rusted, dented bugle.

“Portkey activates in the next five seconds.”

He grabbed on quickly and felt the familiar pulling from his navel, then the spinning started and he was pushed outward. The wizard managed to catch himself on his hands and knees, while Podmore took just one knee and held her arms out for balance.

“Regina,” she shook hands with the Obliviator on-site.

“Jeremia,” the red-haired, brown-eyed international operative did a double take on Harry, “Mr. Potter, what a pleasant surprise.”

“Nice to meet you,” he shook her hand as well, “What happened?”

“That’s our job,” Podmore cut in, before turning back to the other witch, “Where are the wizards?”

“In there,” Regina pointed to a two-storey stucco building with a faded terracotta roof and batwing shutters on the windows. 

“Are they British nationals?” asked Harry.

“Ding-ding-ding,” the head of the committee said sarcastically, pushing open the bullet-ridden door and addressing the owners of the establishment, “Now, which one of you tossers -”

“ _ Malfoy _ ?”

“ _ Potter _ ?”

“Yes, Zabini is here as well,” an olive-skinned boy rolled a shell between his thumb and forefinger, “How do you do?”

“- would care to explain what happened here?” Podmore finished like here had been no interruptions.

“My business partner failed to inform me that the protection services we were providing were for Muggle organized crime,” Malfoy drawled.

“And I suppose this testimony will hold up under Veritaserum as well?” the witch narrowed her eyes at the pale boy.

“It would,” he said without hesitation.

“And I presume your business partner has the appropriate certifications to be operating a Magical-Muggle enterprise?”

Zabini flicked his wand at the Muggle certifications, which magically transformed back into their wizarding counterparts.

“I’m going to need every document, every letter, every transaction record -”

Zabini summoned a box of files.

“- from the last year -”

Zabini summoned three more boxes.

“- and neither one of you has explained how this was allowed to escalate.”

The boys looked at each other.

“Beatrice Zabini ran the business before her death,” said Malfoy, “we’re both just now learning the ropes and… didn’t realize the damage Muggle wands could inflict.”

“Reports said the fight began in here before you moved it outside?” Podmore scribbled fiercely into her ticket book.

“There was a civilian in here.”

“There were more civilians out there.”

“But they weren’t caught in the crossfire.”

“No, they just had front-row seats to a blatant display of magic!” she ripped out a ticket that revoked their operating license, fined them, and set a court date for their hearing.

“I’ll have you know,” Zabini spoke up saucily for the first time since he made his introduction, “that my friend did not once cast a protection charm for himself. He’s the reason you didn’t need to bring out the body bags and he was hit by those rotten mudbloods seven times before I could drive them away. He was almost dead by the time I got their metal out of his lungs, liver, and kidneys.” 

“And if your memory can be verified before the Wizengamot, your friend will be cleared of any violations to the International Statute of Secrecy,” replied Podmore just as icily, holding out a vial for him to put the silver sliver of memory in. She capped it and stepped out.

“... Was the Muggle sitting right there?” Harry pointed at the chair in front of Malfoy’s desk.

“Yeah,” he nodded, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“It’s a good thing you happened to be a wizard, then. Bullets - er, Muggle killing curses - move fast.”

“Yeah.”

“A Secrecy Statute hearing is rather dull. As long as it was self-defense -”

“It was.”

“- then you have nothing to worry about,” Harry watched Podmore running a diagnostic charm through the square. The magic from Malfoy’s unicorn hair wand was clearly distinguishable from Zabini’s dragon heartstring and the only spell ever cast at anyone was  _ Protego _ .

“Was that all, Potter?” he sighed warily, “Or did you want to pop down to the pub and reminisce about the good old days?”

“We had those?” Harry tried for a joke. 

Malfoy cut him a dry smile for his efforts.

“Good day, lads,” he spun on his heel and met Podmore to portkey back to England. 

*****

“Johnson! Weasley!” Bardin beckoned them into his office, “This is Miss…?”

“I would prefer to speak to the aurors alone, please,” said the chubby woman with cool gray eyes and brown hair in neat ringlets. 

Bardin gestured for them to have a seat and left the room.

The woman waved her wand and her hair transformed back to its natural platinum blond. Her rosy, full cheeks thinned and paled. 

“Mrs. Malfoy,” Angelina appraised her, “Why the charade?”

“My son has been foolish enough to abide by the demands of extortionists,” the witch placed a note on the desk.

Ron read it,  _ Another thousand galleons in the same spot or we come for you again. No aurors or else. _

“He never told me,” she sniffed, “His own mother! Does he think he can run away to Italy and our problems won’t follow him?”

The redhead pursed his lips, “We’ll need to speak to him -”

“I’ve already arranged a welcome home party for him. You will use the kitchen entrance and remain there until I send him down.”

The aurors did so and waited a long time.

“Will you quit pacing?” Angelina huffed.

“Sorry,” Ron mumbled, “The last time I was this close to these dungeons -”

“You  _ what _ ?” an angry yell came from partway down the service stairs.

“Lower your voice,” Mrs. Malfoy hissed, coming into view, “Johnson, Weasley.”

“Oh, Merlin’s  _ fucking _ sake…” Draco rounded on his mother once more, “ _ What _ were you  _ thinking _ ?”

“Of  _ you _ !” she shouted back, “I was thinking of  _ you _ !”

“If you were, you’d’ve left me in Italy!”

She scoffed, “You have no prospects there. I  _ told _ you Zabini was trouble -”

“You did no such thing actually. In fact, I believe you said -”

“That was  _ before  _ I knew he did business with,” she shuddered, “ _ muggles _ . The savages -”

“I’m going back to the party -”

“And I’m assuming your  _ blood traitor  _ friend just  _ gave _ you an advance of a thousand galleons, hmm?”

“Draco?” Astoria Greengrass bounded down the stairs and stopped short at the sight of the aurors, “Oh, good, you’ve come to your senses.”

“You knew about this?” Mrs. Malfoy asked her coldly.

The girl stared her down, despite being at least three feet shorter, “Yes,” she turned to Angelina and Ron, “Second master bedroom. The ceiling.”

“ _ What _ ?” the woman demanded of her son.

Draco groaned, “‘Storia -”

“Thank you, Ms. Greengrass,” Angelina led the way up the backstairs, so the guests wouldn’t see them.

Ron cast a few advanced curse-assessment spells he learned from Bill, “A dark ritual was performed here.”

“I could’ve told you that from the way the blood keeps seeping through the paint,” Draco sighed.

“There are runes drawn into the letters,” the auror continued, using a highlighting charm, “this cluster means loss… but this one means to hold or have, but with intimate emotional connotations… then this one’s…”

“... What?” asked Angelina.

Ron looked at her gravely, “Talebearer… it’s… not the neatest substitute, but… it’s been used often enough in recent decades that the magic’s… come to understand -”

“How original,” the Draco flopped down on his bed, glaring at his mother, “if  _ someone _ calls the aurors, then I’ll lose what I hold most dear,” his silver eyes flitted over to Astoria, who stood in the doorway, biting her nails, chestnut locks splayed over her delicate shoulders, and he felt his heart beating just a little faster. 

*****

Hermione stood upon the elevating steps to the Headmistress’ office. 

“Ms. Granger,” McGonagall opened her tin of Scottish biscuits, “Care for one?”

“Thank you, Professor,” she took one shyly, “I wanted to thank you again for allowing me to drop out mid-term and then to challenge the N.E.W.T.s last week instead of waiting for the end of the year -”

“Think nothing of it,” said the witch, “but you didn’t have to make an appointment to tell me that.”

“I was also hoping to get your permission to host the first meeting of the Society for the Protection and Promotion of the Rights and Welfare of Magical Creatures in the Forbidden Forest? Hagrid told me about a clearing that should be large enough to hold at least fifty giants - not that many will be in attendance at once, of course, so there’ll be room for other creatures. The Forbidden Forest is the only space in Great Britain that connects to so many different species’ natural habitats and wouldn’t require them to travel through Muggle areas - I wouldn’t ask if I thought we could make do with our current headquarters -”

“You have my permission, Ms. Granger, effective immediately,” McGonagall smiled warmly as a ministry owl stuttered to a stop on her desk.

“Thank you so much, Headmistress!” Hermione got up excitedly.

“Hold on,” the professor broke the ministry seal, “Don’t you want to know your N.E.W.T. results?”

“They’re available?” she was back in her seat instantly.

“It  _ is _ the off-season,” the woman handed her the parchment. 

Straight O’s, except for Potions, which was EE. Hermione didn’t realize she was smiling until she felt her cheeks get sore. The young witch looked to the older one, as if to confirm the letter’s reality. 

“Congratulations, Ms. Granger,” her eyes twinkled behind her rectangular spectacles.

“Thank you!” she beamed, “Thank you, Professor!”

Ginny and Luna met Hermione at the foot of the stairs, “Well?”

“We can meet in the forest!”

“I’ll call the creatures,” Ginny touched the tip of her wand to the knut that was given to all members of Society for the Protection and Promotion of the Rights and Welfare of Magical Creatures, abbreviated as SPPRW-MC or Sparrow-MC or Sparrow. 

“I’ll tell Rolf to bring his camera,” said Luna, sending off her hare patronus, “I believe Hagrid has a class to teach just now, but he already knows our new plan, we just need to bring everyone else up to speed.”

“Let’s go!” the redhead looped her arms through the other girls’, “How’s Ron been, Hermione? You’ve been oddly silent on that front recently.”

“Oh,” the bushy-haired witch waved it off, “We’ve just both been busy adjusting.”

Ginny and Luna shared a look and the former pressed, “So, how is he?”

“Well, it’s not like he can talk about the cases he’s working on -”

“But he can tell you about the ones that he’s closed -”

“Well… he hasn’t.”

“Different couples like to talk about different things,” said Luna placatingly.

“How is Harry, Ginny?” Hermione asked, “His letters to me seem to get shorter by the day.”

“That’s ‘cause his new boss is a slave driver. The committee isn’t exactly advertised as the most exciting division, so she’s always short handed. This one Muggle curtain-twitcher in Little Whinging has been getting suspicious of Mrs. Figg - you remember -”

“The squib kneazle breeder from the Order.”

“Yeah, apparently, her customers aren’t exactly subtle when they come to buy and the Dursley’s old house has a perfect view to her front step.”

“They apparate.”

“Well, they did until Harry put up anti-apparition wards, but Mrs. Figg forgot to update her for-sale notices -”

“Oh, no.”

“So now you have splinched limbs across a lawn in Muggle suburbia. Luckily, it’s almost Hallowe’en, so Harry can claim they’re just very realistic decorations, but 'yes, they’d scar the children, we’ll get rid of them right away,'” Ginny snorted out a laugh before sobering, “He did find sixteen cursed objects in a thrift shop in Hackney the other day… nine teenagers have gone missing after visiting the store. He’s brought Bill and Fleur in, but there’s so many to go through and the longer those kids are missing -”

“We’re here,” Luna interrupted.

The clearing was practically a meadow with long, soft grass, small, wild flowers fading with the autumn, and the late afternoon sun filtering through the thick, temperate canopy. A motley of creatures were waiting for them there, semi-organized by Firenze. 

“Greetings, Ms. Granger, Ms. Weasley, Ms. Lovegood,” the centaur addressed the newcomers.

“Welcome back,” Hermione stood on a stump to be able to see everyone better and unfurled her agenda parchment, “Welcome back, everyone. I’ve made some notes regarding our last hearing and what we can learn from it. Please speak up if you have anything to add.”

A dark-brown-haired boy suddenly materialized in the middle of the clearing, “Sorry! Sorry…” he wove his way to the nearest tree and proceeded to climb.

“Er, this is Rolf Scamander, he is a magizoologist with  _ the Daily Prophet _ ,” the witch introduced.

“Hello,” he waved as he angled his camera, “Don’t mind me.”

“He’s been kind enough to lend his platform to our cause as we, Sparrow, will be attending the first annual hearing for post-war improvement, hosted by Minister Shacklebolt himself.”

Some creatures traded hopeful cheers, others wary glances.

“Oh!” Ginny fished around her robes for her letter from Bill, “Sorry, Hermione, just one more thing - I almost forgot - if you are a gifted spellcaster or are a runes or arithmancy scholar, my brother, Bill Weasley, is looking to hire. He runs a private curse-breaking firm, offices at 92 Diagon Alley.”

The elves and centaurs began to chatter excitedly. 

“Regarding our last hearing,” Hermione brought their attention back to the issue at hand, “The newly seated goblins drive hard bargains and I will go over their customs and some important legal terms of theirs in a moment. First of all, I think we need to appear more unified before the Wizengamot and we can do this in a number of different ways…”

*****

A redheaded man with scars across his face and a lithe blonde woman with a pregnant belly held their wands above their heads and murmured quietly to each other as their magic interacted with the curse placed on Draco Malfoy. Little beads of sweat formed on both their brows and the veins in their temples popped against their skin before the difficult part was over.

“The caster’s use of runes makes their meaning ambiguous,” Bill Weasley explained to the family, “Until we have an honest conversation with them we won’t know what the curse is exactly - whether they meant for you to lose something that means a lot to you like your first broom or something more serious like someone you love.”

Draco leaned forward in his seat and placed a gentle hand on Astoria’s knee.

“It is a blood-bound curse,” the redheaded man continued, “so it’s impossible to be completely certain that it’s been broken. We have taken every measure, placed every countercurse, and if it’s not broken by now, it should fade to nothing in time.”

“How much time?” asked the boy.

“Zee best estimate we can geeve you eez beetween one to seven decades,” replied Fleur, “Less, oof course, eef zee caster eez killed, but even zat eez no guarantee.”

“We’ve determined the wand wood and core,” Bill turned to his brother, “I know that’s not the best for narrowing it down -”

“Not here,” Angelina cut in.

“You  _ will _ kill this caster when you find them, won’t you?” Mrs. Malfoy narrowed her eyes at the aurors.

“If he confesses that the curse was cast to kill and Bill or another certified curse-breaker can verify it… he may receive the sentence of a dementor’s kiss, but that is not up to us.”

The woman huffed and dismissed them with a derisive wave of her hand. 

“There’s floo powder in the pot on the mantle,” Draco told them in an attempt at politeness.

“Er, thanks,” Ron managed.

“The ministry will pay the ransom for the duration of the investigation so that your safety is ensured,” Angelina informed them, “What’s the drop?”

“Sleeping tree in New Forest,” said Draco, “Midnight. It’s got temporary portal charms like a Vanishing Cabinet, but it doesn’t allow live specimens, so you won’t be able to find them that way.”

“We’ll look into it,” Bill promised. 

Once the aurors and curse-breakers had floo’ed to the ministry, Bill whispered, “Dragon heartstring. Cherry wood.”

“Shit, who fucked up?” Ron knew that cherry wood alone channeled strange and often lethal powers, but paired with dragon heartstring it was a recipe for disaster unless given to someone with an enormous amount of self-control.

“I got the details of the attack from Draco,” said Angelina, “The wizard or witch knew  _ Sectumsempra _ .”

“Snape’s spell?”

“And it’s not like he wrote a book on dark magic, so it’s safe to assume we should talk to Ollivander.”

“See you at home, Ron,” Bill waved.

Fleur’s parting smile was more of a grimace as she rubbed her swollen belly. 

“See you two,” the auror followed Angelina and floo’ed to Diagon Alley.

The wandmaker’s shop was just as dim and dusty as they remembered from their youth. Ron had been many times to see his older brothers get their wands and twice to get his own. 

“Vine, unicorn hair, fourteen inches,” Ollivander smiled at Ron, then to Angelina, “Sycamore, dragon heartstring, thirteen inches and three-quarters.”

“Hello, Mr. Ollivander,” said the witch, “May we ask you some questions about a wand you may have sold? Cherry, dragon heartstring?”

“Ooh,” the wandmaker balked at the suggestion, “I’ll check my records, but that is a dangerous combination, I’ll be surprised if I handed out more than five in the last half-century.”

A thick parchment scroll settled onto the counter and Ollivander cast a search spell, “Reginald Cattermole, Susan Bones… Yes, that’s it.”

“I know Reginald Cattermole,” said Ron, “or, uh, of him… He was working in Magical Maintenance at the ministry last year. And Susan Bones was a Hufflepuff in our year. George just hired her, I think.”

“Great, I’ll see about Reginald, you talk to Susan,” Angelina disapparated before he could utter an agreement.

“Er,” Ron shrugged, “Thanks, Mr. Ollivander.”

“Anytime, Mister - or should I say - Auror Weasley,” his blue eyes twinkled with pride.

*****

Astoria took her usual portkey to the gate just outside Hogwarts grounds, where she was met by Hagrid. 

“Hello, Astoria,” the giant boomed jovially, but then he saw that her tired smile didn’t reach her eyes, “Whatsamatter?”

“Oh -”

A small  _ pop! _ sounded from behind her and there stood a Draco Malfoy whom Hagrid had never seen before. Pale, yes, fearful, yes, but with a torrent of warm emotion burning in his usually cold gray eyes.

“‘Storia… Can I speak to you a mo’?”

The girl turned to Hagrid, “I can walk up to the castle myself -”

“Would you mind waiting, er, Professor Hagrid?” Draco spoke up, “This won’t take a minute and I… don’t want her walking alone after she hears what I have to say…”

“What  _ do _ you have to say?” she eyed him suspiciously.

He fixed his face into a practiced scowl, “I’m breaking up with you.”

“Bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“And you heard me.”

“Is it because of the curse?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

He forced his mouth into a sneer, “I genuinely want to break up with -”

She grabbed him by the shirt collar and kissed him.

Draco blinked slowly and licked his lips languidly before remembering what it was he was there to do, “No, ‘Storia, I -”

“There’s a blood curse on my family,” she said, “Ages old. Since Morgan le Fay.”

“You’re related to Morgan le Fay?” he raised a pale eyebrow.

“No, our family stood against her with Merlin. The curse goes,  _ To they who refuse to lie down in green pastures, may they be put down and made to. _ Obviously, it was in runes, and the dramatics were added over the centuries, but -”

“That’s why you fled last year… to stay neutral through the war.”

She nodded, “It's been ingrained in us through generations to never make the same so-called mistake again.”

“‘So-called?’”

Astoria nodded again and caressed his cheek lovingly, “This... us... is not a mistake, Draco. No matter how we try to keep our heads down, convince ourselves that just because we believe in something doesn’t make it our fight, no one in my family has ever lived past fifty. Does that mean the curse is active?” she set her jaw and looked up at him pleadingly, “Well, no more!  _ I _ believe in us, curses and history be  _ damned _ !”

“‘Storia, you could barely stay in school the entire term -”

“If you break up with me, you won’t break the curse. You’ll only break my heart and yours, because we both know we care about each other, so…” she held his hands tightly so her knuckles turned white, “I’m going up to the castle to finish the term and I’ll be expecting your letters.”

Draco groped for another good reason as to why keeping her for himself was selfish until a loud, mucus-filled sniff interrupted him.

“Sorry, sorry,” Hagrid dabbed the corners of his eyes with his big red handkerchief, “That was beautiful, Astoria.”

“Thank you, Hagrid,” she turned to Draco, “Hagrid’s on my side.”

“Uh-huh,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Then he looked into her beautiful, earnest brown eyes. The boy kissed her forehead and rested his chin on the top of her head as he pulled her into a snug embrace. 

“I know you’re on my side too,” she whispered, smiling into his chest. 

“Always,” he murmured, just for her to hear.

*****

“ _ Whoo _ ! Seventeen, babeeey!” a wizard cloaked in a garish shade of yellow shot sparks out from the tip of his wand.

“ _ Foooor _ he’s a jolly good wi-zard!” his friend swished his own wand and a horde of bright blue birds proceeded to join the festivities, “For he’s a jolly good wi-zard -”

“ _ Muffliato _ ,” Harry banished the birds and cast several disillusionment charms, thanking Merlin for the late hour, “Gentlemen.”

“Merlin’s  _ pants _ , it’s Harry  _ Bloody _ Potter!” the yellow-cloaked wizard stumbled over to him, Butterbeer tankard emptying over the cobblestoned street.

“Nice to meet you,” he shook their hands, “Messrs...?” 

“I’m Dippet and this is Kohler,” said the bird-caster, “at your service.”

“Brilliant,” Harry grinned jovially, “Can I buy you a pint?” 

“Merlin’s  _ hat _ !” Kohler squealed, “Harry Bleedin’ Potter wants to buy  _ us _ drinks!”

The boys stumbled back into the Leaky Cauldron, where Harry made good on his offer and bought them both pints of Sober-Up potions.

“That should take care of their rooms, eh?” he counted out a few more sickles for Neville.

“Thanks for coming, Harry,” the owner of the establishment wiped his brow. The night was his busiest yet and Old Tom had let the anti-intoxication wards lapse on the Muggle side. “I put the wards back up, so we shouldn’t have any more trouble.”

“I’ll write it off as a warning,” the boy promised his friend.

“Thank-uh… Your pocket is smoking?” 

“Oh!” Harry fished it out and flipped it open gingerly to see Dean’s neat handwriting,  _ Nifflers robbing a jewelry store in Leicester Square _ . “Gotta run, see ya, Neville!”

He exited out the Muggle side and apparated, almost crushing underfoot a rodent-like creature with a string of pearls dangling from its pouch.

“Harry, what do we do?” Dean jogged over to him, “I called the Obliviators but Podmore’s still in Italy for Zabini’s hearings -”

“Send a patronus to Luna Lovegood. Ask her where we can banish the Nifflers,” Harry pointed his wand at the statue of Paddington Bear, “ _ Verto Midas _ !”

The bear turned into what appeared to be solid gold and the Nifflers flocked to it, attempting to hack it to pieces to carry it away, but Harry remembered well from Magical Creatures at Hogwarts that they were herbivores with poor teeth. 

Luna’s hare patronus answered them quickly. Apparently, Rolf’s grandfather had just the sort of sanctuary for mischievous creatures in his cottage in Dorset.

Dean banished the Nifflers, but the Obliviators couldn’t possibly get everyone who’d seen the creatures. There was room for what they called “reasonable doubt” if the committee members could provide the public with a believable excuse. 

“Don’t talk to anyone just yet,” Harry instructed the magical taskforce, “You can tell them we’re animal control and tomorrow, we’ll see what ends up on the news.”

The wizards and witches disappeared into the underground station and apparated back to their homes. Harry apparated first to Garland’s flat in Somerset.

“ _ Bleedin’ Christ _ !” the muggleborn jumped up from the couch in front of the telly.

“Don’t you have anti-apparition wards?” he asked.

“Never needed them before now,” the man shrugged. 

“I’m sorry to bother you at home, but we had an incident in Leicester. Can you get rid of all the CCTV footage the Muggles might have? And be on alert for the morning news brief - they might have some exclusives we don’t want going around.”

“What?” Garland frowned at the telly that had gone fuzzy in the wake of Harry’s apparition, “You think I can just walk into a broadcasting station and -” he grinned as an idea dawned on him, “I’ll take care of it. It would be suspicious if the footage just went missing, but I can distort the tape with magic!”

“Thanks, mate!” Harry raised his wand to apparate away.

“A-ah!” the man held up his hands to stop him, “Use the door, please?” 

The wizard chuckled and left the Muggle way, “Sure.”

When Jeremia Podmore returned to the ministry to review the Muggle coverage of wizarding news, all she saw on the morning shows was that there had been a rodent infestation at Leicester and animal control had stepped in quickly and efficiently.

“Good job on the Nifflers last night, Podmore,” Felix Bardin, the Head Auror, congratulated her in the lift, not knowing she hadn’t been there at all.

“Thanks,” she said, feeling an icky sort of mixture made from guilt, anger, and jealousy. 

*****

“Morning, Ron. Any luck with Susan?” asked Angelina.

“Her wand’s clean. And Bill said Malfoy was right about the sleeping tree. The portal opened and closed at midnight and after that, there’s no more curse to break. Cattermole?”

“Dead.”

“What?” Ron paled.

“His wand was buried with him, according to their ceremony officiator.”

“When?”

“November 1997.”

“ _ Merlin _ ,” the boy sat down and buried his face in his hands, “Didn’t he run? With his wife and kids?”

“They did… but snatchers caught up to them. Killed Reginald where he stood, fighting…”

“And Mary Cattermole?” Ron pressed, “Maisie, Ellie, Alfred?”

Angelina blinked in surprise, “I thought you said you knew  _ of _ him?”

“I… it’s a long story. I’ll tell you sometime, I promise…” he took a shaky breath and stood, “Do they still live in Evesham?”

“I… yes.”

The boy nodded resolutely, “Do you mind going back to Ollivander’s yourself and asking for any wands of the recently deceased? Or those only thought to be? I… I need… to pay my respects...”

“Yeah… yeah, you do that… and that’s a good idea… about Ollivander’s…”

“I’ll see you in a bit,” he mumbled, walking back to the floos.

_ 27, Chislehurst Gardens, Great Tolling _ , Ron didn’t know how, but he remembered it clear as day - the fear on Mary Cattermole’s face and the way she looked at him while he looked like her husband, with so much love. 

When he rang her doorbell and saw her for the first time in two years, she looked at him like he was a stranger and he looked at her the same. She had changed - her hair was graying early at the temples and her eyes were cold instead of burning with emotion. 

“Mrs. Cattermole?” he struggled to find the words.

“Who are you?”

“Auror Ronald Weasley,” the wizard flashed his badge and proffered his hand.

She backed away slightly before remembering herself and extending her hand as well.

“I knew your husband,” he said, “Reginald.”

The woman swayed slightly at the utterance of the name.

“I… I just learned… and… I came to -”

“Mummy?” a little boy with red-brown hair - a cross between both his parents’ - peeked out from behind her skirt.

Ron’s lips broke into a fond smile as he took a knee, “Is this Alfred?” 

“Mummy said not to talk to strangers,” said the boy shyly.

“This is Auror Weasley, Alfie,” said Mrs. Cattermole, “He knew Daddy from work.”

The wizard didn’t correct her assumption, instead shook little Alfred’s hand. “Takin’ good care of your mum, aren’t you, young man?” 

“Espec-especially,” he said slowly, “Now that Maisie and Ellie are at Hogwarts.”

“The both of them now? Congratulations,” said Ron, “My mum always loathed sending us off one after the other. Made things awfully tight.”

“Did it?” a stiffness entered Mrs. Cattermole’s tone.

The auror stood slowly, confused, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything underhanded by it -”

“I think I’d like you to leave now, Auror Weasley.”

“I… I’ll do that…” he frowned deeply, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

He apparated directly to Diagon Alley and walked into Gringotts and flashed his badge to the goblin teller, “Auror Ronald Weasley. I need information on the Cattermoles’ transactions from the last two weeks.”

The goblin verified his badge with a long, grimy fingernail before pulling up a thick scroll. “Cattermole, Cattermole… Here we are… Debt, debt, debt, foreclosure and account closure warning issued on Wednesday three weeks ago, cleared debt on Monday last week and some left over deposited into their vault. Another deposit of a thousand galleons today.” 

Monday was the day after the first drop. Ron ran a hand over the bottom-half of his face. “How much is the total cleared debt and the leftover deposit?” 

“That would be another thousand galleons,” the goblin answered.

“Thanks, mate,” Ron apparated back to Evensham and was surprised to see his training master already halfway to number 27, “Angelina, she’s -”

The witch nodded, “I know. Reginald’s wand was cherry and dragon heartstring.”

“Her kid is home. Other two are at Hogwarts.”

“I’ll take care of her, you protect the kid,” she pulled out her wand.

“She’s not dangerous. She was desperate.”

“Tomato, tomahto. Don’t forget the blood-binding curse.”

“She… her family -”

“Ron,” she stopped short to send a patronus to Katie Bell, “You’re too close to this -”

“No, I got it -”

“I’m waiting for backup -”

“She’ll run and there will be a manhunt,” he growled, “She’ll have pure-blooded mercenaries aiming curses at their heads. We take her in now and give her a fair trial.”

“Then let’s not kid ourselves, quibbling about motive,” she snapped, “She is a suspect - a very strong one at that. We are making an arrest.”

“Yeah.”

“I need to hear you say it.”

“She is a strong suspect,” he set his jaw, “We’re making an arrest.”

“Angelina?” Katie materialized beside them with a  _ pop! _

“Ron,” Padma nodded at him.

“Wands at the ready. Suspect is a female, dark brown hair. Her kid’s in there with her. Trainees protect the kid. Katie -”

“We’ll bring her in,” the other witch finished.

They breached the front door.

“ _ Wait _ !” came a broken cry from the kitchen.

Mary Cattermole stood in front of her son, her wand on the ground at her feet. She kicked it over. 

“Reginald’s sister lives in Dorset,” she took little Alfred into her arms and kissed him fiercely, “Take him there.”

“ _ No _ !” the boy screamed, “ _ No _ , I won’t go! Mummy, I’ll take care of you!” he dove for the wand.

“Expelliarmus,” Ron whispered gently, catching the wand as it spun out in the air. “C’mere, mate -”

“ _ No _ !”

“Alfie…” Mrs. Cattermole hugged him tightly, “Mummy’s taken care of, don’t you worry. It’s alright. It’s just a little misunderstanding. Don’t you want to see Aunt Regina? She’s such fun, isn’t she?” 

“They’re strangers, Mummy…”

“Ronald Weasley isn’t, remember? He knew Daddy...” she looked at him helplessly.

“We’ll take good care of you both, Alfie,” the auror reached out his hand and with a bit more prompting from his mother, the boy took it. 

"How do you know  _ Sectumsempra _ ?" asked Angelina.

"Severus was our peer at Hogwarts," she confessed, “Rumours spread quickly of the spell as he was so proud of it.”

“And Edward Martin?”

“Reginald knew him from the department. We met at the funeral.”

"And the intent of the curse you put on Draco Malfoy?"

"I lost the man I loved to his family's horrid agenda. What do  _ you _ think?"

Arm in arm with Angelina and Katie, Mrs. Cattermole was apparated away. Alfie cried loud enough to shatter all the windows and glassware. Padma stayed behind to repair them while Ron floo’ed Alfie and himself to Regina Cattermole’s flat. 

The witch started from her small, worn couch, still in her Obliviator’s robes after responding to a baby dragon escape in Romania. “Alfie?”

The boy ran to her and held her legs tightly.

“It’s about your nap time, isn’t it, sweet-pea? I’ll fix you a sleeping draught...” Regina hummed before addressing the auror with a wary look in her brown eyes, “Have a seat, I’ll just be a moment.”

Ron nodded, dreading to be the one to tell her. The war was supposed to be over, but here he was in the wake of a death, an arrest, another family broken. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think? :) I'm always interested in your feedback!


	6. We Don't Do Domestic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Endless thank-yous to the gift that is elanev91 for making this chapter so much better!! You have a great eye for detail and I treasure youu <3

Harry was catching up on some paperwork at his office. Perhaps it was naive of him to think he could escape ever putting a quill to parchment again once out of Hogwarts.

“Mr. Potter,” a strong Scottish accent greeted him.

Speaking of Hogwarts. “Professor McGonagall,” he stood and pulled up a chair for her, the Muggle way, “or should I say, Headmistress?”

“Professor is fine,” she smiled at him, a fond gleam in her eyes. “I’ve come to talk to you about some students of mine, the Elezra twins: Caverin and Merina.”

“Ginny and I helped them get onto the platform, yeah.”

“Well, I’ve not been able to reach their guardian, Mrs. Elezra, their late father’s sister. They came to school woefully under-packed.”

"I thought I saw them board with their trolleys?"

"Their cases were empty,” McGonagall folded and unfolded her hands on her lap. “They’ve been getting all their books at the library and their supplies from various storerooms. I've gotten them the necessities, of course, but -"

"I'll find their guardian,” Harry nodded resolutely, “Do you have a first name or the address on their acceptance letter?"

"The latter, yes." She handed him a slip of parchment.

His face contorted into a scowl when he read the precise address, "The Musty Attic." 

"You will contact me by patronus when you find her, won't you?" the headmistress interrupted his thoughts. "I should like to have a word with her myself."

Her tone indicated that not only should he let her handle it, but she would handle it to his satisfaction as well. So he said, "Yes, Professor."

Harry met a weary looking Ron on the ground floor. “Just getting in, mate?”

“Yeah… the Cattermole children… Mum will see to them and the temporary guardianship hearing went through without a hitch, but…”

“Yeah,” the dark-haired boy sighed and told his friend about the Elezras.

“Wait a minute, if they don’t have any money, then how did they get their wands?” asked Ron.

“I… I don’t know.”

“I can pop around Ollivanders for you if you like -”

“No, I’ll do it. I have to pass through Diagon anyway. You’d better get on upstairs before Angelina blows a gasket.”

“Ah, yes, like in the days of good ol’ Quidditch Captain Johnson. See ya at home, Harry.”

“See you!” Harry picked up a handful of floo powder. “ _ Diagon Alley _ .”

In the next second, Harry stumbled through the Leaky Cauldron fireplace and saw that Old Tom was back. 

“Neville’s taken the day off, then?” he made small talk as he passed around the back of the tavern to get into the Alley.

“Aye,” said the bartender, “with a fair lass, no less.”

Harry raised his eyebrows, impressed, and made a mental note to get details next time the boys went out for drinks. He tapped the pattern in the bricks with his wand and the alley opened up to him -- cauldrons to his left, apothecary to his right, then Eyelop’s Owl Emporium, Quality Quidditch Supplies. Harry walked past them all to Ollivander’s. 

“Ah, eleven inches, holly, phoenix feather,” the old wandmaker greeted him. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Mr. Potter?”

“The Elezra twins, Caverin and Merina?”

“Yes, twelve inches of cypress and dragon heartstring, eleven and a half inches of fir and thestral tail hair.”

“Er, right, I’ve come to settle their account.”

“Oh…” the old man frowned and checked his books, “Well, they’ve already paid.”

“All fourteen galleons?” asked Harry.

“Yes, they’ve just settled their debt this morning, in fact.” He showed the young wizard some of his correspondence history with the twins. 

_ Dear Mr. Ollivander, _

_ Please find enclosed seventeen sickles and three knuts. I believe that’s the last of it. _

_ Sincerely, _

_ Caverin Elezra _

And a letter dated several weeks previous read:

_ Dear Mr. Ollivander,  _

_ Please find enclosed fifteen sickles and ten knuts. More to be paid next week. _

_ Thank you so much for your patience, _

_ Merina Elezra _

_ P.S. Yes, please be assured that we are doing honest work to pay you back. Mr. Filch pays us what he can to help him maintain the castle. _

Harry’s heart swelled with pride. Ginny had tried to keep a friendly eye on them while at school, but they rather kept to themselves. From what she could tell they were good students, although Caverin ended up in detention for dueling a Slytherin in the corridors once, and Merina for sneaking onto the Quidditch pitch after curfew twice. 

“Thank you, Mr. Ollivander,” he returned the man’s letters.

“You’re most welcome, Mr. Potter.”

Harry left the shop and walked back to the Leaky Cauldron and across to the Muggle side. He got on the tube to Lambeth and walked through the cold and wet mid-morning to the townhouse the Elezras lived in. 

“What do you want?” Mrs. Elezra answered the door on the third knock as the doorbell didn’t seem to be working.

“I’ve come to speak to you about your nephew and niece. I believe you know Professor McGonagall -”

She grabbed the front of his shirt with a strong fist and pulled him inside before she shut and bolted the door behind him. 

“You lot are the bane of my existence, I swear it,” she muttered, shaking her head. “First Mardon and now his spawn - what are you  _ doing _ ?”

Harry conjured a silver stag that trotted around them briefly before disappearing to find McGonagall. “Their father was a wizard?”

“A geezard, you mean,” the woman scoffed. “He was never all right in the head - not dropped on as a babe, mind, no one could figure out what was wrong with him -”

“There was nothing wrong with him,” the boy spoke through gritted teeth. “He was -”

“Oh- _ ho _ ,  _ no _ , that was  _ before _ all the strange happenings showed up!”

“I’m here because the headmistress of Caverin and Merina’s school couldn’t reach you. You sent them off without school supplies -”

“Those ungrateful brats ran off themselves soon as they got their letters! Their inane mother filled their heads with nonsense before she too kicked it!”

A stern-looking McGonagall materialized beside Harry with a  _ pop! _ “Mr. Potter.”

“Yes, Professor?”

“Thank you for finding this woman.”

Mrs. Elezra jutted out her pointed chin and her large nostrils flared in defiance. 

“Yes, Professor,” Harry understood a cue to leave and disapparated. 

Since leaving Hogwarts, Harry had the leisure to check the Ministry's registry and had become a regular visitor, learning about his family’s history all the way back to the Peverells. However, when he checked the books, there was no Mardon Elezra listed, nor anyone of their line. After conferring with Garland, who was very interested in family histories, he found that the Elezras had moved to Muggle England in the nineteenth century and were not, as far as anyone knew, of magical blood. 

“There is an explanation I’m interested in, personally,” said the Muggleborn. “My father died early, long before I got my letter, but my mother always said he had a way of making things run smoothly for us, even through the toughest of times. She never even worried when he went to work in the lab anymore because no matter the accident, he always came away unscathed.”

“Er, Garland, maybe -”

“I know, what if he contracted something at the lab and that's what did him in, right? Wrong! They checked him - he had many friends, see, lawyers, other specialists in his field - and they could find nothing wrong with him! He simply went peaceful-like one night and that was that.”

“So you think he… was a wizard?”

“Well, perhaps not quite yet, eh?” the man scratched his head, “Evolution being a slow process and all that.”

“That’s… certainly a theory,” Harry tried to remember any instance where Hermione had mentioned her parents doing something odd but couldn’t, then again, she hardly ever spoke of them except perfunctionatorily. “Have you looked into it with other Muggleborns? Hermione Granger, Dean Thomas, Mary Cattermole, perhaps?”

“Ah, shame that. Poor woman… her poor children… I can look into it if you like.”

“Well, I don't want to bother you, just if you happen to be -”

“Look around, lad!” he gestured laughingly about the otherwise empty office. “I’ve got time aplenty.”

“Let me know if you find anything?”

“Will do!” The man clicked his ball-point pen - no quills for him, not even when he was at Hogwarts - and began to make a list. 

*****

The smaller navy blue and candle-lit chambers were empty save for Firenze and the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Hector Podmore. Outside in the corridor with a green and black checkered patterned floor, Hermione and Nee sat side by side, each in their own version of formal robes. They had been waiting all afternoon and it was almost dinner time. 

With the successful ruling of Minister Shacklebolt's post-war improvement hearing setting an important precedent, Nee was convinced. “This isn’t going to be like the last one.”

“How do you know?” Hermione chewed her bottom lip. “The benefits of a public hearing are that the jury can be shamed into doing the right thing.”

“Or they follow the mob,” the elf frowned. “We had the majority of the old wizarding electorate against us then, whispering sweet lies into the Wizengamot’s ears. Now, with nothing but their own conscience to reckon with, I believe we stand a better chance. Hector Podmore has grown wise in his old age. I’ve spoken with his freed elf.” 

“You have?” Hermione turned to her small companion in surprise. 

Her ears flapped as she nodded. “You remember Besamy’s great-aunt Upal?”

“Yes,” Hermione brightened. “I saw her at headquarters yesterday!”

Nee smiled. “So you see? Nothing but their own conscience, and perhaps the knowledge that one of our great war heroes is fully behind our cause and ready to speak for it.”

The girl blushed. Just days before the hearing,  _ The Quibbler _ had published a lengthy editorial by Hermione on Sparrow’s activities and initiatives along with an interview with Nee about the rights of magical creatures. 

The tall double doors to the chambers opened and Firenze trotted out.

“Well?” Nee and Hermione asked him urgently.

“Gethsemane Prickle, one of the new RACOM-C employees, has been put in charge of shredding all laws pertaining to magical creatures that have ever passed through Dolores Umbridge’s hands in light of the woman’s war crimes.”

Nee whooped gleefully.

Hermione reserved her celebration as she nodded. They were very likely to gain that concession.

“House elves may report to Ms. Prickle as well for deeds to land, which they may purchase,” Firenze continued.

“Which land is being allocated?” asked the witch, familiar with this kind of short-change tactic from Muggle history.

“The moors in the north, near Scotland, are guaranteed and other plots may become available as needed. This is in writing, as is the rest.”

“But the important thing is,” said Nee, “we can  _ own  _ land now! What of your travel restrictions, Firenze? And the giants’?”

“The tolled checkpoints are to be shut down immediately.” The centaur cantered to and fro excitedly. “We no longer have to report our whereabouts on demand, although we understand we must now abide by the International Statute of Secrecy. Rights and responsibilities go together, after all.”

“And education?” For the first time since the hearing’s end, Hermione dared hope.

Firenze leaned down in earnest. “Full funding and our elders will have full control over delivery.”

“ _ Yes _ !” the small witch threw her arms around his neck impulsively and he picked her up and set her on his back before helping the elf up as well.

“I told you, didn’t I?” Nee was positively quivering with joy. “We must spread the word!”

The trio were quite a sight, galloping through the Ministry’s narrowing and then suddenly widening corridors, wizards jumping to the walls like lizards to get out of their way. As they came through, they called for all to hear, “Three cheers for equal rights! Hip-hip!  _ Hooray _ ! Hip-hip!  _ Hooray _ ! Hip-hip!  _ Hooray _ !” 

*****

Everyone had expected Harry to stay on with the Weasleys’ after the war, but Minister Shacklebolt advised against it. Then despite making it known that Harry was not at the Burrow, there were several misguided attacks, which were quickly quelled. Only when they’d stopped close to September was Harry permitted to move back in discreetly. 

No one knew Andromeda Tonks was still around for Harry to live with through most of July and August. Ted Tonks told the Snatchers she’d gone to America before they killed him. 

Harry apparated to the small house he’d come to know well. He would have offered to live there full-time for little Teddy Lupin’s sake, but when they got the news that the Burrow was safe, Andromeda had insisted that a young man like him ought to be around people other than “an old witch and a babe.” She’d been right, of course. At the Burrow, he felt like he was fourteen again, excited to go to the Quidditch World Cup with his best mates. Yet, the staunch Gryffindor couldn’t shake the feeling he got sometimes, that he was being a coward and running away. 

The dark-haired boy let himself into the house and followed the sound of the commotion upstairs. 

“Alright, Frog?” Harry smiled at the one year old, who was sporting soft, shiny skin of a Granny Smith hue. 

“Ribbit!” he said, squirming in delight. 

“I’m sorry, Harry,” Dromeda finally hustled her grandson into his itty-bitty winter robes with some efficient spellwork, “I know I shouldn’t have read him  _ The Witch and the Frog _ before an outing as important as this, but he turned his face into a puppy on me!”

“No need to apologize,” he chuckled. “Are you sure you’d rather not come with us?”

Dromeda looked at him seriously. “Don’t make me get all sentimental, Harry, please. I know my age and my ability. I’d only get in the way if… if anything were to happen.”

“No one knows we’re going -”

“Until someone does.”

Teddy’s skin had mellowed into a color resembling his natural tone. Although he couldn’t understand just yet, he could  _ feel _ the gravity of the situation. 

“I’ll pay my respects some other time.” She took out a big, purple, lace handkerchief and used it to shoo them out the door. As Harry apparated away with Teddy, she used it to dab at the corners of her eyes.

The dark-haired, green-eyed boy and a smaller dark-haired, green-eyed boy materialized in the cellar of the Hog’s Head. Aberforth Dumbledore flung open the trap door and helped them up before Ginny Weasley ran in, telling him his goats were once again jumping the fence and headbutting people in the square.

“Merlin’s pants, those devils!” the old man grumbled and stormed out.

“Harry! Teddy!” The redhead dashed over, enveloping them both in a hug. “Hermione’s out by the memorial, getting ready to give her big speech. Bardin’s put Ron on perimeter duty.”

“Shacklebolt?” asked Harry.

“No unanticipated delays, just Spencer MacMillan’s usual perfectionism. You alright?”

“Yeah.”

When the Minister for Magic arrived and the band started, Ginny had to go sit in her assigned section with her family while Harry, who would be the prime target of any attacks, was not supposed to be there at all. But he and Andromeda were adamant that Teddy came to know his family history, even as young as he was. So he wrapped himself and Teddy in the Invisibility Cloak and ventured out, into the muddy village square and up the hill beside. 

Thinking about being a godfather now always made him think of Sirius. The man who’d offered him a home -  _ made _ him a home - and told him it was alright if he took up some space in his life. His father’s best friend. He would’ve died for James Potter and he died for his son. Nothing, Harry imagined, would ever stop the guilt he felt for what happened at night in the Department of Mysteries, but he willed himself not to cry because then Teddy would cry and possibly make it sound like a foghorn again. 

“Your mum and dad’s names are on there,” Harry whispered to the baby, feeling his own heart sink even further in mourning. “Tonks - she never liked to be called Nymphadora, so when you tell people about your mum someday, be sure to say her name was Dora…”

It frustrated Harry to no end that he was recycling stories already. It reminded him of everyone telling him how brave his father was, how loving his mother was. He wanted to know what they were like. What music they listened to. What jokes never failed to make them laugh. What drove them absolutely mad. Sirius hadn’t been able to tell him much before he passed. Andromeda knew more and Harry could be glad of that, at least. 

“Remus’ nickname,” he went on anyway, for Teddy’s sake. The baby seemed to like it when the stories made sounds that were familiar to his young ears, which were, at the moment, wolf ears. Yes, he knew this story well. “He was Moony. He had what his friends called a ‘furry little problem.’ That didn’t stop him being brilliant at Charms and Arithmancy, but his true passion was teaching…”

Harry trailed off as the band’s song ended and Hermione stepped up onto the podium to read her speech. The boy scanned the perimeter from his vantage point and spied Ron’s bright red locks, Angelina’s unmistakable tall frame, and other aurors he recognized from Bardin’s department. He looked up, as one must do when checking a perimeter in the wizarding world, and there were Alicia Spinnet and Katie Bell, hovering on their brooms. Still, a strong sense of unease enveloped him and he pulled the cloak closer about them, resting Teddy over his shoulder as he did so.

His godson’s hair and eyes turned ice blue. “Bad.”

Harry dropped to the ground and raised his wand under the cloak, an  _ Expelliarmus _ on his lips as a sullen-faced brunette closed in. It was Flora Carrow. She couldn’t see him yet, for the cloak, but she seemed to suspect something amiss because she kept looking, wand at the ready.

Harry set Teddy down on the ground under the invisibility cloak slowly and shielded him with his legs. He didn’t want to duel her; she was only a few years younger than himself and what’s more, Teddy could get caught in the crossfire. 

He was spared the decision when the Head Auror himself felled the sneaking girl with deft flicks of his wand. 

“Potter?” Bardin spoke tersely, binding Flora tightly before rifling through her pockets.

“The mud,” Harry murmured in realization. He was standing in mud. No invisibility cloak could hide it. “Yes, it’s me. I’ve got my godson with m-”

“Leave.  _ Now _ ,” he commanded, having pulled up Flora’s sleeves to reveal the faded dark mark moving across her arms. “There are more of them!”

Quickly, Harry apparated back to the Tonks’ and let himself in before locking the door with every security spell he knew. Teddy’s face was pale and his hair was its natural mousy brown.

“It’s alright, it’s alright, Teddy.” He kissed the top of the boy’s head, while he couldn’t seem to fill his lungs with enough air, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry -”

“Harry,” Andromeda snapped her fingers in front of his face, getting his attention. “They found out?” 

“I fu-” he pursed his lips, “I messed up. I have to go help.”

“Give Teddy a proper good-bye then.” She patted his arm reassuringly.

Harry set the baby down on the magical couch that automatically sank the cushion down to accommodate him more comfortably. “I love you, Teddy. I… I’ll be better for you. I’ll make the world safe for you.” 

“Hawee,” said the boy, morphing his features to match his godfather’s exactly, scar included, if only on a younger face. It was his way of saying ‘I love you.’ 

“I’ll see you later.” Harry went back outside and disapparated with a loud, determined  _ pop! _

Aberforth and Bardin were flinging spells out the shattered windows of the Hog’s Head when Harry materialized behind the bar and saw three men standing outside in the early winter rain. Harry had quick reflexes and ducked as a green bolt came hurtling at his head. 

“Bloody hell, boy!” Bardin yelled, “I thought I told you to get out of here!”

“You never said I couldn’t come back!” Harry fired a stunner out the window and felled one of their attackers. “How many?”

“Three right outside: Dolohov, Macnair, Rockwood.”

“Goyle in the sky with Yaxley,” Aberforth added, “The girls are seeing to them. No clue how many are still in the square.”

“Casualties?” the boy jumped up quickly to fire a blasting curse, hitting the other Death Eater. 

“Spencer MacMillan. Jumped in front of the minister.”

Harry exhaled heavily, “Did they make a statement before they started attacking?”

“None, although I suppose it’s quite clear what their aim is,” Bardin grunted, throwing up some protection spells as Aberforth reinforced the already battered walls. “The memorial’s destroyed.”

“ _ HERMIONE _ !  _ HERMIONE _ !” Ron could be heard outside.

Harry took advantage of the distraction and struck the third man with a vicious  _ Diffindo _ before running outside. “Ron! Hermione!” 

“She was duelling Parkinson!" Ron jabbed a finger at the pig-faced witch, lying on the ground a few paces away.

Suddenly, Hermione took a shuddering gasp for air and sat up, her hair wild. “Gerroff me and get Barebone!”

“Barebone?” Harry looked around the square and for the first time noticed the troll slumped behind the memorial that was reduced to half its size.

“American sympathizer of Voldemort’s, it would seem,” Hermione darted around the memorial, meeting Ron halfway, “and now she’s in the wind!”

“Oi! Don’t look at me like that!” Her boyfriend’s face reddened to match his hair, “If that had been a Killing Curse -”

“But it  _ wasn’t _ ! And even if it  _ was _ , you  _ should _ have continued fighting!”

“You’re not the boss of me!”

“Just like old times, eh?” Ginny glided down on her broom, formal skirt partially scorched.

“Gin!” Harry embraced her tightly.

“Goyle and Yaxley apparated away once they saw they were outnumbered. The detectives are going to pay the International Squad a visit, see if they can’t suss them out. They were last seen in Bulgaria, so they reckon they have a hideout there.”

A limping Bardin and a hunched over Aberforth made their way out of the Hog’s Head, which was slowly collapsing in on itself.

“I’m getting -” the goat herder groaned and coughed, “- too old for this.”

“Heh,” Bardin touched his bleeding head, “I wish I could say the same.”

“You got a few good licks in before they  _ Crucio’d _ you.”

“I’ll apparate you both to Mungo’s,” Harry extended his hands to both men. “See you later, Gin?”

“You still owe me a Hogsmeade date,” Ginny winked and blew him a kiss as he disapparated. 

*****

Still in her ceremony robes, Hermione materialized behind her parents’ lilac bush, giving her mother a frightful start.

“Hermione! I didn’t see you there!” She jumped up from the dirt with all the agility of a young girl, “How did you do that?”

“Magic,” she grinned at her mother. “What are you doing out here in the cold, Mum?”

“Oh, well…” the woman frowned and looked about herself, finding no clues, “I… I was just getting a bit of fresh air, I reckon. What happened to your clothes? They’re a mess!”

“Nevermind that, let’s get inside, shall we?” the girl wrapped her own cloak about Dr. Granger’s shoulders.

“Richard!” she called up the stairs, “Your daughter’s come to visit! Say hello!”

“I wish you wouldn’t fuss so,” he grumbled, stomping petulantly down the stairs. It was unclear whether he was talking to his wife or his daughter.

“It’s good to see you, Dad,” she kissed his cheek.

“What happened to your clothes?”

“Sports.”

“How’s school?” her mother asked before her husband could dispute that his daughter had never played a sport in her life.

“Er, well, I believe I owled you,” said Hermione, “I’m all finished.”

“So it’s onto university, then?” asked her father.

“Er, well, I’m working right now, actually -”

“If money’s the problem, we’ve been saving -”

“Oh, no. No, not at all, I’ve… I’ve actually quite a bit of my own money now, rewards and things from…” she hesitated to say it, “from the war, so please spend a little on yourselves if you want to go to France for the winter? Like we used to?”

“You’ll come with us?” her mother looked at her hopefully. It had been ages since they’d gone on a proper holiday together, as a family. 

“I’d love to,” Hermione smiled. “The Weasleys are going with Fleur and Bill to see the French side of the family, so we can -”

“ _ The Weasels _ ?” her father frowned.

“The Weasleys,” Hermione enunciated. “My… my boyfriend’s family, remember?” she made a mental note to apologize for yelling at Ron earlier that day. He had only wanted to protect her. 

“You’re not staying out of school for  _ him _ are you?” Dr. Granger pressed, interlacing his fingers and holding them to his mouth.

“No, of course not,” Hermione bristled, “there just aren’t any wizarding universities -”

“ _ No universities _ ?” her parents asked in unison.

“Yes, we’ve talked about that before,” she spoke slowly, “It’s seven years of school, a minimum of one year’s work in any ministry department, a Magister’s exam, then I’m on-call for Magical Law Enforcement cases, and once I understand how to solve the socioeconomic issues plaguing our society, I run for Minister.”

“I seem to remember the Magister part, but not the Minister,” her father said slowly while her mother still looked confused, “Politics is messy business, Hermione Jean.”

“Someone’s gotta do it right for once.”

“Why are your clothes muddy and torn?” he changed the subject pointedly. “And if you say sports again -”

Hermione shrugged. “There a was a small scuffle -”

“ _ Don’t _ lie to me!”

“Richard,” his wife hissed.

“I’m  _ fine _ ,” the girl snapped.

“ _What._ _Happened_?” Dr. Granger insisted.

“There was an attack,  _ alright _ ?” She jumped up. “And before you say that it’s all the more reason why I shouldn’t get into politics, you’re  _ wrong _ ! It’s all the more reason that I  _ should _ ! Yes, it’s messy. Yes, you’re put in uncomfortable positions. But Godric’s sake, that’s how you make  _ important _ changes! That’s how you make space for  _ everyone _ and keep them all  _ safe _ !”

“Hermione, I think what your father means to say is -”

“Oh, I know perfectly well.” Her lips began to tremble. “All I want to know is how long have you been harbouring these feelings? And is it just now that your mind is addled that they’ve bubbled to the surface? Would you have just quietly resented me and my choices in life otherwise?”

“ _ Hermione _ !” her mother scolded. “Do you only respect your parents when they’re  _ perfect _ ? Do you only care for them when they  _ agree _ with you?”

“That’s not what I mean!  _ Don’t _ put words in my mouth!”

“We hear you  _ exactly _ ,” her father bit back, “and you may go do as you like, we can’t stop you.”

Hermione pressed her fingers to her temples before raising her wand. “Let me just -”

“I said  _ go _ !” The house shook with the force of his shout. 

“Dad,” her hands were shaking, “you need the treatment and -”

“I think you best go, Hermione,” her mother spoke quietly, looking between them nervously. 

“But -”

“ _ Please _ .”

She stumbled out of the house, but could not concentrate enough to apparate, so she took the tube to the Leaky Cauldron and floo’ed home. 

*****

“Merina!” Ginny hissed, cornering the girl at the Gryffindor broom sheds. “What are you doing out here so late?”

“What are  _ you _ doing out here?” the girl returned defiantly, putting the pilfered Comet back into its place.

“I’m the team captain.”

“You still have curfew.”

“I’m a bloody war hero, now scat before you get detention again!”

“Can you put me on the reserve team, Captain?”

“ _ What _ ?”

“I saw you watching me from under the stands. Your hair stands out like a flame!”

“Your aim never accounts for the wind, you lack stamina, and you float at least five feet away from where you start before you realize you’ve moved!”

“Thank you, that’s all I wanted to know,” the eleven-year-old pulled the Quidditch chest back into the cupboard as well, “Goodnight.”

“Godric’s sakes, hold still,” Ginny  _ Scourgified _ the girl’s robes, “Try  _ Immobulus _ on the bludgers next time. It’s not in the curriculum, but you’ll find it in your Charms index. Less messy.”

“Thanks.”

“My twin brothers used to be the best beating team. Does Caverin play too?”

“He doesn’t like it the way I do, but it doesn’t matter because he’s just bloody good at everything he does.”

“You would be good enough for the reserve team with a little training, but we’re well into the season just now and you’d need McGonagall’s blessing as a firstie. You’ll try out next year, though, won’t you? Demelza would be captain then.”

Merina grinned. “I’d be honoured.”

“Alright, now get. And remember, lock your ankles, breathe through your nose, and check the wind!”

“Yes, Captain!” The girl snuck back into the tower easily, having grown familiar with Mr. Filch and Mrs. Norris’ patrol, as well as all the prefects and Heads.

A few days later, she received a large, long parcel with a note written in emerald green ink:

_ Ms. Elezra: Do not open at the table and do not use it at Hogwarts until next year. Happy Christmas.  _

“That’s a bit of an unnecessary note, innit?” Caverin peeked mischievously through the brown paper, “It’s obviously a -”

“A very large umbrella!” Merina cut him off loudly, “I was just telling Professor Hagrid how much I admired his pink one. Thank you, Professor!” She waved at the Head Table, but fixed her eyes on McGonagall’s, sparkling behind her square spectacles. She would recognize her Transfiguration professor’s handwriting and favoured ink anywhere.

“What have you got, Caverin?” the girl noticed the bulging envelope in her brother’s hands. It was about a foot long and a foot wide and very soft. 

The boy ripped it open and out fell two red jumpers with a big golden C on one and a big golden M on the other. “Messrs. Earwig, Pinchy, Checker, and Drylock would like to extend you both an invitation to a Christmas holiday at Number 12, Grimmauld Place.”

“Please solemnly swear to wear the jumpers,” Merina read the post-script, “They were very difficult to make.”

“Do you reckon  _ she _ knows anything about this?” Caverin nodded in Ginny Weasley’s direction. The Quidditch Captain was wearing a jumper almost exactly like theirs, only hers had a big golden G.

Merina took the note and walked over to the loud girls at the head of the Gryffindor table, “Excuse me?”

“Hello, Merina!” the redhead greeted her cheerfully. 

“Sorry to bother you,” Merina looked between Demelza Robins, Luna Lovegood, and Ginny herself, “but do any of you know Messrs. Earwig, Pinchy, Checker, or Drylock?” 

“So  _ that’s _ what those silly blokes are always on about!” Ginny smacked her forehead, “Yes, Earwig, Pinchy, and Checker are my dork brothers, George, Percy, and Ron. Drylock is my dork boyfriend,” she looked over Merina’s shoulder at Caverin, who was trying the self-fitting jumper on for size, “Will you come then? Demelza’s got a fancy Moroccan getaway -”

“Oh, shove it!”

“- but Luna’s coming, too.”

The ash-blonde girl waved. 

“We can get the festivities started on the train with some trolley treats,” Ginny continued, “Celestina Warbeck’s Christmas album, and -”

“Why us?” Merina whispered, “Pardon me, I mean, thank you, but… why us? We’re perfectly happy to stay at Hogwarts. It… it’s home to us. More than any place has ever been. And I know our robes are secondhand and so are our books and things, but… but we don’t need charity. We don’t  _ take _ charity. We pay every pence - I mean, knut - back and -”

“It’s a party,” Ginny shrugged simply, “No one who goes to a party pays to attend. They get invited and if they’re gracious, they accept.”

“And if you don’t come, everyone will have wrackspurts about their heads because guests who were expected are missing.” Luna blinked slowly. “That  _ always _ happens, you know.”

“Well… I… Thank you, but I should ask -”

“Put on your jumper, Merina, go on!” Caverin threw the thick wool in her face as he walked up to her. “It fits like a glove, I tell you! I’ve written the Messrs. back to say we’ll be there. We can ask the Knight Bus driver to take us, like he took us to King’s Cross.”

“Wonderful!” Ginny piped up and introduced herself to the other Elezra twin. 

*****

“Hermione! What are you doing here?” Harry smiled pleasantly at his friend as he left the office. A wizard home for the holidays had a magical snowball fight with his Muggle cousins, but he hadn’t used his wand, so it wasn’t an underage magic violation and Harry was able to let him off with a warning. 

“I was told to report to Jeremia Podmore since my application to the committee was accepted. She’s your boss, right?”

“Yeah, she’s just left for the holidays, though. I’ve just got to do the paperwork on a call we responded to and I’ll fetch you a ticket book and some Muggle-Worthy switches to attach to your magical things.” Harry summoned a parchment and wrote the name of the wizard, his address, a brief description of the incident, signed it and filed it away. Then he went to the storeroom for Hermione’s things. “I thought you might go straight to Law Enforcement? Maybe join Ron in the Auror department?” 

“Oh, I… I thought about it, but… I think… it might be best for everyone if I… uh, eased myself into it.”

“Right….” He cast her a sideways glance as they got into the elevator. “What’ve you got there?”

“Oh,” she held up three thick volumes, or tried to at least, “ _ An introduction to Magical Law, An Introduction to International Wizarding Law,  _ and  _ A Magister’s Guide to Law Enforcement _ .”

“But you can’t take the exam yet, can you? You don’t want to study hard now only to forget it when you need it -”

“ _ Harry _ !” Hermione looked at him scandalized as the elevator stopped at Level Two and Ron got on. 

“What’s he done now, love?” Ron kissed his girlfriend in greeting.

“Harry’s just implied that he forgets everything we learned at Hogwarts as soon as he’s done being tested on it!”

“It’s not like we really  _ need _ seven different ways to blast things!” the dark-haired boy defended himself, “A good  _ Confringo _ or  _ Reducto _ will do just fine and even those are mildly redundant!”

“ _ Mildly redundant _ ?” Hermione’s nostrils flared as though she had been personally disrespected, “Ronald, tell him!”

“I’d rather not be roped into this,” the auror put up his hands peaceably, “In any case, it is the holidays, officially now. Let’s try not to row.”

Hermione huffed, a curly tendril of hair flitting out of her face as a result. 

“Well, I’m off to fetch Teddy and Dromeda,” said Harry, “Meet you lot at Grimmauld?”

“See you, Harry!” said the couple as their friend floo’ed away. 

“ _ Hawee _ !” Teddy toddled towards the fire to greet him. “Suh-no! Suh-no!” 

“What’s that, Ted?” Harry picked him up and looked at where he was pointing out the window. 

“Suh-no!” he said again, morphing most of his head into a snowman’s.

His godfather laughed when he turned back to the baby, “Who are you and what have you done with my godson?”

“Hawee, it me!” Teddy changed back temporarily before turning back into a creature that resembled the Yeti more than your friendly neighbourhood snowman.

“Oh, of course!” Harry played along, “Where’s your grandmother?”

“Nap,” the boy pouted, “I not sleeply no mo’!”

“Well, in that case,” Harry checked the time and it was indeed just a little before three. He cast a silencing charm at the ceiling, “Let’s not bother her, yeah? We can go outside and see the snow while we wait.” 

They stepped outside into the garden in their winter robes and gazed up at the gray sky.

“I used to think,” said Harry quietly, “that it was bits of cloud falling. It is, sort of.” He struggled to remember his Muggle schooling. 

It was hard for him to learn when he also had to be on the lookout in case the other children might throw spit wads and gum at him. After his strangeness - his magic - began to show, his teachers would have rather had little to do with him and he dared not incur their wrath lest they report back to the Dursleys so he never asked questions. 

“Cla-oo!” Teddy tried to say ‘cloud,’ grinning, catching a particularly large flurry in his hand and watching it melt right there on his finger. He tasted it and shrieked with delight, “Wah-er!”

Harry nuzzled his little snowman, happy that he was happy.

“Harry!” Andromeda poked her out of the second storey window, “How long have you been here? You should’ve woken me! You’re the  _ host _ , Harry! You don’t want to keep your guests waiting!”

“We’ll be right in!”

They met by the fireplace and Andromeda floo’ed first, followed by Harry with Teddy held lightly to his chest. 

“Master Potter,” Kreacher bowed so low, his nose touched the floor. He was working for wages now, as was signified by his green Slytherin scarf, which Harry had found among Regulus Black’s old things and thought his loyal friend would like to have. 

“Hello, Kreacher,” said Harry, before turning in the direction of a sudden commotion. “Is everyone here already?”

“Yes, sir. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and younger Mr. and Mrs. Weasley left their presents this morning before they left for France,” the elf meant Arthur, Molly, Bill, and Fleur, “Messrs. Earwig and Pinchy are in the foyer with the Cattermoles, throwing hexes at Mistress’ painting.” 

“Ah. That’s still not coming off the wall yet?”

“You could replace the entire wall,” said Kreacher. 

Harry thought about all the wards and charms he’d need to put back in place so that the house would remain hidden, “Let’s just go through the last three items on Earwig’s to-try list and if they don’t work, can you get younger Mr. Weasley to deal with it.”

“Right, Master. Also, Miss Weasley is in the kitchen. Please get her out so that Kreacher can work.”

The dark-haired boy chuckled. “I’ll get right on it.”

“Come now, Ted,” Andromeda lifted him onto her shoulders. “Grandma will show you her old room!”

Meanwhile, Harry snuck into the kitchens. Celestina Warbeck was playing at an eardrum-shattering volume, so it didn’t take much. 

“Out of all the charms that ring my bell,” he swept Ginny up in a tight embrace from behind. 

“Oi! Potter!” she laughed as he carried her out of the kitchen, “Put me down!”

“There's nothing like a holiday spell!” the wizard finished the chorus and put her down as she requested. 

The redhead looked at him with her honey almond eyes, her pink lips in a pretty little pout.

“What? You wanted to be put down.”

“I changed my mind,” she climbed him like a tree and snogged him completely senseless -- he didn’t hear the doorbell ring, didn’t hear Kreacher announcing two of his young guests, didn’t hear the elf loudly telling said guests that Master Potter was in the dining room, and didn’t hear them walking into the dining room. 

Caverin Elezra stuck his fingers in his mouth and let out a sharp wolf-whistle. 

“Merlin’s beard!” Harry.

“Morgana’s hat!” Ginny.

“Hello,” Merina waved shyly. 

The couple quickly disentangled their limbs from one another and faced their guests. 

“Did you get everything you needed?” the redhead pulled out a chair for the twins with a deft flick of her wand. She’d had about a million misgivings about leaving them in Lambeth to do some ‘necessary shopping errands,’ but they’d assured her they knew what they were doing and it was a surprise, so she couldn’t know the details.

“Yup,” Caverin pointed at the six presents in Kreacher’s arms, “Happy Christmas.”

“We don’t have enough presents for everyone, I think,” Merina blushed in embarrassment, “but that’s why we chose ones that are easily shared.”

After they’d exchanged the usual, awkward, “thank you, you shouldn’t have, no, you really shouldn’t have, but thank you, you’re too kind,” the conversation turned to everyone’s favourite ice-breaker, Quidditch. 

*****

“What is it you wanted to show me?” Hermione followed Ron into Ottery St. Catchpole. 

“Keep your eyes closed!” he told her, guiding her slowly down the icy street before coming to a stop, “Now, hold out your hand.”

She held out her hand, trusting him completely, and felt a small, cool piece of metal drop into her palm. Her eyes flew open. It was a key. 

“What’s this?” Hermione looked up at the narrow row house with just a sliver of garden and a "for sale" sign blocked by a SOLD sticker. 

“Well, if we ever want to move out, now’s our best shot with Mum in France,” Ron said practically.

“Move out?” her fingers gingerly brushed over the cold iron-wrought gate. 

“Or move in,” he shrugged, “however you want to look at it.”

“Together?” she said, looking at the gold key in her hand. 

“If you want to,” Ron was nervous now. With Hermione, it was always an immediate “yes” or an immediate “no” or a long, drawn out argument. 

“I… You didn’t pay for it all by yourself, did you?"

"What else am I going to do with my reward money? Complete my chocolate frog collection?" He did, but Hermione didn't need to know that.

"But if you wanted us to move in  _ together _ , we should've bought it  _ together _ ."

"But then I couldn't give you the key for Christmas." He flashed her a lopsided smile that usually won her over.

"You're missing the point." She clutched the key to her chest before slowly unclenching her fist around it and holding it out to him. Her dark brown face was unreadable when she said, "I can't accept this, Ron."

"Well.” The boy suddenly became very interested in scuffing his new trainers against the rough pavement. “You can still keep it, you know. In case -"

"I - I can't -"

"Why?"

"I'm thinking of moving back in with my parents over the holidays. So I can give them better care."

"Oh, alright,” Ron fisted his hands in his coat pockets. “You know I'd love to meet them -"

" _ Yes _ ," Hermione put her fingers to her temples, "you've  _ said  _ so."

"Is there something  _ wrong _ with that?"

" _ No _ , Ron,  _ please _ stop trying to pick apart -"

"Why  _ not _ ?" he challenged her, " _ You _ do it all the time -"

"Look, I  _ really _ don't want to fight."

"Me neither," he crossed his arms as if to comfort himself.

"So let's just go to Harry's and give each other some space."

"Yeah. Fine."

They apparated to the Leaky Cauldron, where Neville Longbottom, Hannah Abbott, and Luna Lovegood were about to floo to Grimmauld Place as well.

"Ron! Hermione!" Hannah waved them over.

"Hullo! Happy Christmas!" Neville cheered, his arms wrapped snugly around Hannah's waist.

"Oh, Merlin!" Luna tutted, lifting her spectrespecs so they could see the concern in her eyes, "Your brains are clouded with wrackspurts! What happened?"

"Nothing," Ron mumbled.

"Perhaps you ought to get those glasses fixed, Luna," Hermione replied waspishly.

The other girl blinked once, twice, unfazed.

"Er, shall we?" Ron gestured to the fireplace.

"Yes," Hannah was eager to make the moment pass.

"Yeah," Neville wasn’t sure he should let Hermione’s comment pass.

"Okay," Luna was, as usual, indifferent.

"Right," Hermione held her chin high.

  
Ron grabbed some floo powder and bellowed, " _ Grimmauld Place _ !"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it, obviously, but please let me know either way on here or on Tumblr [@littlejeanniebean](https://littlejeanniebean.tumblr.com/)! I love hearing from you lot :)


	7. Old Wars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously: Rights are won for magical creatures, a memorial service is attacked, the Elezras make a home at Hogwarts, Hermione joins the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee but refuses to move in with Ron, and it's Christmas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to elanev91, beta extraordinaire, for making this chapter make sense 😂

* * *

Christmas Day was always one of the busiest for the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee. Tensions tended to run high among Muggleborns visiting their Muggle relatives. On one such December 25th, Harry and Hermione apparated into a suburban house, the interior of which was entirely covered with a sticky, sweet substance. Harry stuck a finger into it and licked it off. “Mm, treacle.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “ _ Scourgify _ .” 

The white-washed walls and hardwood floor revealed themselves once more. Without the dessert in the way, one could see there was a great selection of family photos splayed across the tops of tables, counters, and mantles. Harry’s heart gave a little, secret twinge, as though hoping he wouldn’t notice. He did, but luckily, he was at work and had no time to dwell on it. 

Regina Cattermole, the responding Obliviator, materialized with a  _ pop!  _ “Hullo, Happy Christmas!” 

“Happy Christmas,” the pair greeted.

“I’ll take care of the extended family.” Regina waved her wand in the air before going into the dining room where the large Italian family was gathered.

“Harry, if you go have a word with the young witch, I’ll see to the…” Hermione checked her smoking ticketbook, “polar bear in the business district.”

“Good idea,” he said and she vanished into thin air, revealing a very surprised muggleborn in her wake. “Mia Lovetti?” 

“I’ve never seen someone apparate before.” She ventured closer to the wizard whose face she recognized well from chocolate frog cards. 

“I’ve never seen a pudding explosion before,” said Harry. “May I please see your wand?”

“It’s in my trunk upstairs.” She got it for him. 

“ _ Prior Incantato _ ,” he pointed his wand at hers and saw that she’d bat-bogey hexed one of her classmates on the Hogwarts Express last time she’d had it in hand. 

“She was spreading lies about me,” the girl defended herself quickly, “saying I kissed her boyfriend when I didn’t. Eleven’s too young to have a serious boyfriend anyway. He’s not even  _ that _ interested in her. Not that I’d kiss him anyway. He’s ugly as… as a…”

“Er, I’m just here for the pudding.” Harry didn’t know how to handle the drama unfolding before him and wanted to avoid it if possible.

“Well, my uncle is a teacher and he was asking me all these questions to see how good Hogwarts was, but I couldn’t answer any of them. He said Hogwarts was a lousy school and that I shouldn’t go back, so I… I…” she mimed an explosion with her wiggling fingers, “but not on purpose!”

“I see. Thank you for being honest with me, Mia,” said Harry. 

Mia nodded and plucked up her courage. “Can I ask  _ you _ a question, Mr. Potter?”

“Sure,” he smiled.

“How did you ever  _ stand _ going back to the Muggle world after being at Hogwarts?” 

“Well….”  _ Not _ well, Harry thought bitterly of his time at the Dursleys’. “I… I just… I tried to remember that….” He scratched his chin, “that Hogwarts wasn’t going anywhere. It would always be there for me to come home to.”

The girl smiled. “Thank you. Happy Christmas, Mr. Potter.”

“You too, Mia. Try not to let your emotions get the better of you and you shouldn’t have any more pudding problems.”

“Yes, sir!” She grinned, green eyes wide and unblinking so she wouldn’t miss a trick when he apparated away. 

Materializing inside the bright red telephone booth that dropped down like a lift to the Ministry of Magic, Harry felt his ticketbook burning a hole in his pocket. 

_ Polar bear neutralized. Now someone’s playing Father Christmas.  _ Hermione’s neat handwriting darted quickly across the page, followed by an address. 

“What’s the problem?” He appeared beside her on the Muggle London street. 

“Lego,” she pointed at the two large multicoloured forts on either end of the street.

“ _ Fire in the hole _ !” from the left.

“Duck!” Hermione pulled him down as a large snowball was slingshotted over their heads, splattering against the opponents’ plastic wall. 

“ _ Nyah _ ,  _ nyah _ ! You can’t get us!” From the right. 

“Can’t we banish the forts?” asked Harry.

“Doesn’t work. I also tried shrinking spells and transfiguring the Lego into snow -- nothing.”

Harry cast a temporary magnifying charm on his glasses and scanned each of the walls in turn. “WWW.”

“What?” Hermione did everything short of snapping her neck to face him quickly. 

“They’ve got the Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes trademark on them.”

“ _ Ready, aim, fire _ !” some impatient young general called out all three in one breath and launched a rebuttal snowball, which soared over the enemy’s wall. 

“I’ve already set up disillusionment wards, but their parents are inside the house. They’re… growing concerned. Just - just make sure they stay inside.” Hermione apparated back to Grimmauld Place. 

“Ron! Where’s George?” She took her boyfriend aside. “I need to speak with him. It’s urgent.”

“ _ Mudbloods _ !” Walburga Black’s portrait screeched, “ _ Filth in my home _ !”

“He left for Diagon about an hour ago,” Ron yelled over the portrait’s ruckus. “Said a last minute order came in.”

Hermione nodded and made to leave again.

“What’s going on, ‘Mione? Is he in trouble? Do you need help?”

“Do you know anything about a magical Lego set?”

“Erm, what’s Lego?”

“I’ll explain later.” She stepped out onto the porch and disapparated. 

Meanwhile, Harry ducked behind the wall of the losing team and conjured several smaller snowballs before he sent them flying with a well-aimed  _ Wingardium Leviosa _ .

“Neat! Thank you, sir!” said one of the young children, about five years old. 

“No problem. This is a good set up you’ve got here.” Harry knocked against a gigantic red Lego block. 

“Father Christmas gave it to us. He gave the Collridges magic beans to grow a beanstalk, but the baby ate them, so they had to go to the hospital. I like our present better.” He climbed up to the top of the wall and stuck his head out slightly. “ _ Take cover _ !  _ Take cover _ !”

Another large snowball hit them and, in the chaos, Harry disapparated to St. Mungo’s.

“Hi, I’m looking for Muggles by the name of Collridge?” he shook some snow out of his jet black hair, “Might have swallowed some, er, magic beans?”

“Down the hall, Mr. Potter,” the receptionist pointed. 

“Thanks. Happy Christmas.”

“Almost there,” Hannah Abbott was regretting allowing herself to be put on the on-call roster during the holidays. As soon as she pulled the offending bean out of the baby’s throat as the poor thing gagged and sputtered all over her white Healer’s robes, “I know, I know, it’s all over and done with now. Be with you in a minute, Harry. I’m just waiting for -”

The Obliviator arrived just then. “Regina Cattermole reporting for du-oh, hello again, Harry.”

“Hi, Ms. Cattermole.”

“Let’s give them some privacy, Harry.” Hannah closed the curtain around the Obliviator and her Muggle patients with a swish of her wand. 

“Did those beans come in a container?” Harry asked. 

“Yeah.” She fished around her robes for a little baggie. “Here. The parents said they don’t know how they got into the stockings in the first place. The kids, of course, say they saw Father Christmas coming down the chimney.”

Harry checked the bottom of the baggie, which indeed bore the trademark  _ WWW _ . 

“Oh, sod off!” a soot-covered witch yelled, even as she was being brought in coughing on a levitating stretcher. “I’m perfectly fine!”

“I’ve got to go,” said Hannah. “Er, you can keep the beans.”

“Thanks,” Harry pocketed the baggie as the stretcher neared and he realized he knew the witch. “ _ Angelina _ ? What are you doing here? It’s Christmas!”

“I might ask you the same question, Harry,” she grunted. “If Williamson wasn’t such a jittery-jim, I’d be home for turkey now.”

“Why isn’t he here with you?”

“The twat’s home for turkey,” she scowled. 

“You’ve got some third degree burns here,” said Hannah, getting straight to work.

“Angelina!” George barged in, looking like an old man, “I’m really so-”

“Sorry, Healer.” The receptionist hopped in, bound by  _ Incarcerous _ ropes. “I tried to stop him.”

“George,” Harry waved the baggie in his face, “Or should I say,  _ Father Christmas _ ?”

“Pretty ingenious, don’t you think?” George beamed from behind his thick, white beard, “Our best promo idea yet!”

“‘ _ Our _ ?’” Harry’s green eyes flashed angrily. “George, Hermione and I have been trading updates. Ron doesn’t know  _ anything _ about this and I think we can  _ all _ agree Percy would never allow it.  _ I _ certainly had no idea --  _ I’ve _ been running around all night trying to clean up  _ your _ mess! Now, there’s still Lego fortresses that awaits dismantling, so -” 

“And 24-hour fireworks in Chinatown.” Angelina said, wincing as Hannah touched up her burnt skin.

Harry glared at George, who had the decency to look guilty. The bespectacled boy channeled his best Hermione when he said, “I’ll be waiting for you out in reception.”

“You’re good as new, Auror Johnson.” Hannah grinned and checked the time on her wizarding pocket watch, which had ten different faces containing star charts, planet alignments, and three miniature sand timers. She left them alone, saying, “I’ll be in the Janus Thickey Ward if anyone needs me.”

“ _ Merlin _ ,” Angelina seethed, “When I get my hands on Williamson... Who in Godric’s name  _ ever _ thinks cursing a lit rocket is a  _ good idea _ ?”

“I’m really sorry, Angelina,” said George, running a hand through his charmed white hair.

“Oh, stop it, old boy,” she giggled at her own joke, “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to bring about a little Christmas cheer.” 

“But that’s not… My motives weren’t… entirely selfless…”

“Promotion for the shop, you mean?”

“If that’s what I wanted, I would’ve been better off dropping the goodies at households with wizarding parents… No, mostly I wanted… I wanted it to feel…  _ magical _ ... like it did before… Me, Lee… and,” he swallowed, “Fred.”

“I… I heard the first Christmas is always the hardest,” Angelina gripped his hand tightly, her eyes watering, “but all that means is… it gets easier.”

George nodded slowly. 

“Now... go help Harry.”

*****

“Welcome back from your holidays! Witches, wizards, professors, headmistress, the Golden Trio -”

“Mr. Creevey, we get the idea,” McGonagall rolled her eyes.

“- and scouts from the Department of Magical Games and Sports -- what a  _ distinguished _ attendance we have today -”

“Welcome to the Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff match!” the headmistress cut him off. 

The teams flew onto the pitch, Madame Hooch gave her usual spiel that was rarely ever heeded by either team, and they were off. 

“Gryffindor Team, captained by Chaser Ginny Weasley, off to a strong start there with ten points in the bag within just as many seconds!” Dennis Creevey applauded. “Hufflepuff  _ barely _ had a chance to blink there!”

“ _Go_ _Ginny_! _Go Gryffindor_!” The “Golden Trio,” as Harry, Ron, and Hermione had become known, cheered from the stands. 

“The Hufflepuff captain, another Chaser, Tamsin Applebee, is looking to even the score with a  _ Bermuda Triangle _ maneuver - it’s gonna be close! - and that’s a  _ spectacular _ save by Gryffindor Keeper, Iain Claverdon! Tosses to Weasley - to Robins - back to Weasley -  _ ten points to Gryffindor _ !”

The stands went wild.

“Hufflepuff has the quaffle - Weasley closes in for a steal -  _ ooh! _ She just misses a bludger to the head! Peakes and Coote come in -- 'bout time, boys! -- Weasley takes the quaffle, barrel rolls back to the Hufflepuff goals, then a blink-and-miss feint and pass to Robins, who  _ scores _ !  _ Ten points to the red and gold _ ! That's a  _ thirty-point lead _ in just over half an hour! Applebee calls for a timeout. They need to rethink their strategy! This is  _ too easy _ for the lions!”

"Peakes, Coote." Ginny took advantage of the timeout as well. "Forget about watching us chasers. If we get hit, we'll make sure it's to the head and take the penalty. Keep the bludgers on their seeker at all times. Birchgrove: I want that snitch flying around  _ our _ common room tonight."

The seeker saluted. "You'll have it, Captain." 

" _ Weasley takes a bludger to the head _ not even five minutes back in!" Creevey screamed, "Hooch orders a penalty. Weasley appears steady on her broom as she lines up to take her shot - aaaaand  _ score _ ! Ten points for Gryffindor!”

The crowd barely had time to cheer between the action.

“Robins has the quaffle!”  Creevey bounced excitedly on the balls of his feet.  “Applebee steals, nearly knocking her off her broom! Weasley and Robins flank her. She'll have to take a straight-on shot at Claverdon at this rate and it's not likely to sink - Claverdon  _ saves _ ! Passes to Weasley, who jets off to the other end of the pitch! Passes to Robins -  _ who takes a bludger to back _ ! Robins looks a bit peaky...  _ but she shoots and scores anyway _ !  _ I don't think Hufflepuff saw that kind of sportsmanship coming _ !  _ That's a fifty-point lead now for Gryffindor _ !” Dennis took a moment to chug a bottle of water as his voice was going hoarse. “If only their seeker, Sally Birchwood, could manage to find the snitch, they'd have this game well in hand!"

"C'mon, Sally, you’ve got this," Ginny muttered, rolling to avoid another bludger and diving out of the way of its twin.

"Birchwood circles the pitch like a hawk, but no luck yet.”  Creevey leaned forward out of the commentator’s booth for a better look.  “Birchwood… is  _ stretching _ ?” 

Ginny and Demelza shared a grin. 

“ _ Heavens to Helga, Birchwood has the snitch _ ! _ Gryffindor wins _ !”

Ginny zoomed towards her cheering friends and brother in the stands, "How's George?"

"Acquitted," said Hermione, "The families whom he delivered the toys to all have children in the Book of Admittance. They're just not old enough to attend Hogwarts yet."

"Brilliant!" Ginny threw her arms around her friend in glee, “I  _ knew _ he’d’ve given it more thought than he’d like us to believe! He must’ve snuck into the tower to watch it take names, didn’t he?  _ Typical _ George, honestly...”

“Good game, Ginny.” Ron high-fived her. 

“Congrats, Gin.” Harry scooped her up in a fierce hug. 

“Thanks, boys!”

“Ms. Weasley.” Gwenog Jones approached in green and gold tartan robes. “Congratulations.”

“Morgana’s hat, you’re  _ Gwenog Jones _ !” Ginny gasped, throwing out her hand for the Quidditch legend to shake. “Pleased to meet you.”

“And you,” Jones smiled warmly. “We could certainly use skills like yours on our team.” 

“On your - do you mean - you’d  _ better _ not be yanking my robes!”

Jones laughed. “Training season starts in March. You’re of age, right?”

Ginny nodded so fast, her head might’ve rolled right off her neck if it wasn’t sturdily attached. 

“Fantastic, I’ll mail you the paperwork. I look forward to playing with you.”

“You too! I mean, me too! Thank you! Oh,  _ Merlin _ !” 

“Bloody hell!” Ron stared at his little sister in pleased bewilderment. “I mean, I knew you could do it, but  _ bloody hell _ !”

Ginny’s laugh was cut off by Harry, who snogged her in the middle of the stands, not caring that Dennis Creevey had flown down from the commentator’s box on his Comet and was taking pictures from every angle. 

“Was that Gwenog Jones?” Luna Lovegood made her way through the Gryffindor stands. 

Ginny nodded, red and sweaty in the face. 

“Who’s Gwenog Jones?” asked Merina Elezra. 

“Captain of the Holyhead Harpies -- all-female Quidditch team,” Hermione explained. “She just offered Ginny a contract.”

“ _ Wicked _ !” Merina’s eyes went wide.

“But you’re not going to accept, are you?” Hermione crossed her arms, “Not when training starts in March. What about school?”

“Oh, I’ll…” Ginny shrugged, “I’ll do what you did and take my NEWTs ahead!”

“That… that’s different!” she argued. 

“What?” Ginny turned to Hermione in surprise as the latter’s frown deepened. As it often happened when the redheaded witch was confused, she got angry. “Is it because I’m not the  _ brightest witch of my age _ ?” 

“She didn’t mean it like that, Gin,” Harry intervened. 

“She can tell me what she meant for herself!”

“Harry’s right. I would have stayed at Hogwarts if… if I could’ve! And I would  _ never _ quit for -”

“‘Mione,” Ron warned, but she didn’t seem to hear him.

“- something as  _ trivial _ as Quidditch!”

A stunned silence reverberated through the almost empty stands. Almost everyone had gone back to the castle to celebrate where it was warmer. 

“You know something?” Ginny seethed, “You’re right. You and I  _ are _ different. You run away from things; I run  _ towards _ them.” She mounted her broom and sped towards the castle, the ice-cold winds making her eyes sting. Or maybe she was crying. 

*****

_ “You — complete — arse — Ronald — Weasley!” _

_ “You — crawl — back — here — after — weeks — and — weeks — oh, where’s my wand?” _

_ “We protest! And I’m hunted quite as much as any goblin or elf, Griphook! I’m a Mudblood!” _

_ “Mudblood, and proud of it! I’ve got no higher position under this new order than you have, Griphook! It was me they chose to torture, back at the Malfoys’!” _

Hermione woke up in a cold-sweat and in an unfamiliar bed. The sheets smelled like peppermint and a candle made to smell like dewy grass. She turned to her right and Ron lay snoring, back turned to her. He’d moved into his new place in Ottery St. Catchpole and sometimes she stayed over, usually in the interim between when she started feeling guilty for picking a fight and when she actually got around to apologizing. 

The witch slipped out from under the covers and padded into the kitchen in her fluffy knitted socks, her Christmas present from Mrs. Weasley. She’d just put the kettle on the stove when she heard a soft shuffling noise behind her. Hermione spun around in a frenzy, heart beating erratically, hand clenched around nothing because she’d left her wand on the nightstand. 

“‘Mione?” Ron approached her cautiously. 

“Yes?” she jutted out her chin and straightened her stance.

“That’s the third night in a row you’ve woken up and made tea. You know that doesn’t actually help you sleep, righ’?”

“Bold of you to assume I want to sleep,” Hermione bit out before she could stop herself. 

“Come again?” He sat down at the counter she’d taken to looking at for refuge when she didn’t want to face him. 

“I’m tired. I don’t feel like talking.”

“But you don’t feel like sleeping either?” Ron tried his best to keep any frustration or impatience out of his tone. 

“No, go back to bed. Angelina’s day off is tomorrow, isn’t it? So you need to be especially sharp.”

“I’m surprised she took it honestly. She’s almost as determined as you are.”

Hermione’s face softened somewhat. 

“I just have one more question. And you can tell me to bugger off if it’s not something you want to talk about either.”

His girlfriend nodded. 

“What did Ginny mean when she said you were running away from something? Is it related to you… taking your NEWTs in advance?”

“Bugger off,” she scowled, nose wrinkling. 

“Do you have bad dreams, ‘Mione?”

“You said just  _ one _ more question.”

“As bad as the ones we had when we took turns wearing the locket?”

Hermione closed her eyes like it hurt her physically to think about it. 

“I do too. Or did….” He invited her curiosity expertly.

“‘ _ Did _ ?’”

Ron nodded, “The last three nights… knowing you were safe… right next to me… no more bad dreams.”

In a second she was in his arms and sobbing freely. She was tired, so tired, of bearing this on her own. “I… I want to sleep. I just… I just want to sleep.” 

Ron nodded and carried her back to bed. He whispered sweet nothings into the shell of her ear, so her mind wouldn’t wander off somewhere she didn’t want it to go. Within the hour, she was fast asleep. 

The next morning, Hermione sent an owl to Ginny that read simply,  _ Would you like a tutor for your NEWTs prep? Apologetically, Hermione _ .

“Mum knows someone in town,” Ron said while starting breakfast the wizard way - the butter seemed to coat the pan of its own volition while the bread and eggs waited patiently in line. 

“And?” She wrapped her arms around his waist and kissed him good morning. 

“She’s a psychowitz.”

“A  _ what _ ?” Hermione laughed. 

“A… I’m just going to say it wrong again, so I won’t bother, but… she talks to people and helps them sort out her problems. Mum’s been seeing her… since… since Fred.”

Realization dawned. “A  _ psychologist _ .”

“Yeah!” Ron snapped his fingers and the french toast flipped in the pan. “That’s it!” 

“But she’s a muggle.”

“So?”

“So, how is she able to offer solutions to wizarding problems?”

“Insomnia is a wizarding problem?”

“No, but -”

“What about TSPD?”

“... Oh my God, you mean  _ PTSD _ !” her expression hardened. “Have you been  _ snooping _ around my books?”

“You’re always telling me to read more! Well, now I am and you’re  _ mad _ at me for it?”

“Get your own books!”

“Maybe I will!” he matched her volume. 

“Good!”

“Great!”

“Fine!”

For a while, the only sound in the flat was that of sizzling toast. 

“That wasn’t how I wanted this conversation to go,” Ron admitted.

Hermione took their pan of french toast off the stove and turned it off. “I’ve got a tribunal with the goblins that I must be exactly ten minutes early for. And you’ve got Diagon Alley patrol.”

“‘Mione -”

“I’m not mad at you anymore.” She took a bite out of her french toast. “Quit while you’re ahead.”

“Have a good day,” he sighed in defeat.

“You too!” She opened the window and let Ginny’s owl in. 

_ All is forgiven. I’ve had worse fights with Bill over his refusal to make me godmother until his second child (read: Phlegm’s refusal to back down on her choice of Gabrielle even though I’m older!). Luna wants to go on an expedition with Rolf in March too, so she’ll be joining us! Are you free this Saturday? Love, Ginny. _

*****

“So… this is nice.” The minute Angelina took a bite out of her waffle cone at Fortescue’s she decided she felt incredibly out of place. 

“Yeah,” George licked his lemon sorbet idly. “You know, I always thought you’d try to go pro after Hogwarts.”

“I thought so too, but then I figured I’d rather have someone I trust in the auror department rather than… you know.”

“You don’t trust anyone but yourself, huh?” the man tried for a smile.

“Did I say that?”

“Eh, it was implied.” He took another long lick of his ice cream and savoured the taste. “ _ Mm _ .”

Angelina seemed to be completely transfixed by the freckles across the bridge of his long, pale nose and by the way his ginger brows knitted slightly together in concentration. “Can I have a taste?”

“Sure, I’ll trade you.”

They switched treats, fingers brushing. They passed them back, his thumb moved over hers, and there was a spark. 

Angelina stared down at the spot he’d bitten.

“Too much?” he joked, his warm chuckle making her stomach flip. 

“No, not at all, Fre-” she stopped herself, brown eyes darting up into blue. He noticed. Shit. “George, I didn’t mean - I don’t think -”

“I mean,” the redhead smiled wanly, “it was kind of implied.”

_ Boom _ !  _ Briiiiiinggggg _ ! Foul smelling smoke billowed out from under Gringotts as the alarms rang out. 

Angelina and George dropped their ice creams and apparated into the middle of the fray, wands at the ready. 

“Ron, what are we waiting for?” asked Angelina, “and what is that  _ awful stench _ ?”

“No one’s come out yet, but they’ve got too. Their dung bombs automatically set off the tunnel wards Bill installed.”

“So the thieves might not make it out,” George wrinkled his nose at the smell, “and we’ll have to dig up their bones.”

“What a lovely image,” Angelina quipped. “Civilians?”

“Bank’s closed,” said Ron, “Goblin tribunal. Here they come -  _ Oi _ ! Identify yourself!”

“ _ Stupef- _ ”

“ _ Expelliarmus _ !” George caught the thief’s wand. 

“ _ Levicorpus _ ,” Ron muttered, suspending the thief in the air so he couldn’t run away. “I could’ve had him myself, you know.” 

“You can get the next one.”

“Do we know how many there are?” asked Angelina.

“No -  _ Incarcerous _ !” Ron aimed through the smoke with some difficulty, but managed to take the robber down just the same. 

“George,” Angelina grabbed his arm, “do something about the smell, would you?”

“On it!” he summoned some perfume from the shop. 

“ _ Without _ making everyone fall in love with each other, please?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” George pouted, sending the vials back. “ _ Diffindo _ !” 

“ _ Reducto _ !” the thief’s spell hit the pavement at their feet and sent them sprawling. 

“You’re wounded!” Ron warned, running towards the thief’s hooded form. “Don’t apparate!”

“ _ Stupefy _ !” she cried, but her aim was off due to the injury to her wand arm. 

Ron closed in and he was right, she was in no condition to apparate. 

“ _ Wingardium Leviosa _ !” the hooded witch threw a dung bomb, which exploded in his face. 

“ _ Petrificus Totalus _ !” Angelina struck her. “Alright, Ron?”

“ _ Scourgify _ !  _ Scourgify _ !  _ Scourgify _ !” he cast it several more times with his wand pointed at his face. 

“ _ Accio bellows _ !” George’s eyes widened as about fifteen came zipping towards him. He caught one in the chest with a loud,  _ oof _ !

Ron and Angelina caught the rest with their particularly well-suited Quidditch skills. 

“Ah, here’s mine!” George found a bellows made of dragon-hide with WWW etched on it, then banished the rest back to their owners, “It’s got an undetectable extension charm on it, so you’ll be able to breathe again in a jiffy!”

“Thanks, George,” said Angelina, “I’ll go file the report -”

“I can do it,” said Ron. 

“No, you’ve got patrol. I don’t mind,” she took the two unharmed thieves with her when she apparated away. 

When she came back for the third, she looked at George like she wanted to say something, but he was dictating some scheme or another to a quill while his bellows sucked the smell of dung from the air. He used the words “whoopie cushion” a lot, whatever that meant. Angelina disappeared with a  _ pop! _ and by the time he turned towards the sound, she was gone. 

An hour later, Ron received a patronus from her with the names of their collars and the wizard recognized each one from the botched monument unveiling in Hogsmeade. They were veterans of the war. 

There was a veteran agency in Diagon, along his patrol route, so he decided to stop by. The office was fairly small and packed with witches and wizards dressed in faded second-hand robes. Some had come on their brooms and held them alongside; others were potioneers and had their cauldrons of all sizes; and still more were sitting on their trunks with nowhere to go and no job prospects, not in wizarding England anyway. All around him, the walls were covered in job boards, for-rent notices, and the odd plea for someone to return some lost item or another should one find it. 

“And in what capacity did you assist the Order, Ms. Green?” a familiar voice reached the auror’s ears. 

“I was a Healer. Do you have a job for me?”

“I just might. Are you familiar with the term, ‘educational programming?’”

Ron observed Lee make his pitch: a radio show on practical healing spells as well as the latest in advanced wizarding medicine. 

“Here’s the studio address.” Lee, whose dreadlocks were now long enough to be tied back, handed Ms. Green a magically animated card. “You can owl me or floo there if you have any questions while you consider -”

“I’ll take it!” she shook his hand on the spot, “When can I start?”

Lee smiled and caught sight of Ron in his auror robes out the corner of his eye, “We need to plan our episodes, so write down everything you know. I can pay you three sickles by the inch of parchment.”

“Thank you, Mr. Lee,” Ms. Green shook his hand again - she hadn’t let it go in the first place. 

They exchanged a few more pleasantries before Lee was able to excuse himself. 

“Hullo, Ron, I see you’re here on business.”

“I am… Do you come here often?”

“Everyday. I’m doing a special on our veterans. The show pitch was real, mind. Now I just have to convince my bosses at the network that entertainment can be educational.”

“Have you ever spoken to Sylvia Vanity, Gunther Ashe, or Henry Lee?” 

“No, but I know those families are generational Slytherins.” He crossed his arms. “Been especially hard for them to find work for obvious reasons.”

“They're the ones who pulled the bank robbery today.”

“You don’t say…” Lee pulled out a parchment and quill, but Ron shook his head. 

“No, off the record, please. A story would only make it harder on them. They’re already boxed into a corner financially…. If you hear anything about who they used to hang around with or if you have reason to believe that any veteran might be inclined to do something... drastic,” Ron thought of Edward Martin and Mary Cattermole, “then send me a patronus and… if it would do any good, you’ll get an exclusive.”

“You have yourself a deal.”

The lads shook on it. 

*****

“Come in!” Garland answered a knock at his door, “Leave your wand outside! All magical items! Unless it’s old!”

A small brunette with side-swept bangs and bright blue eyes marched in. “Earl Garland?” 

“That’s me,” he straightened his tie and noticed she was wearing Muggle clothes like him, “How can I help you, Miss…?”

“Lovetti. I have some questions about the murder of Beatrix Zelda. First of all, there is no one by that name living in the U.K. so our people in records are a bit confused, as you might imagine.”

“Er, I’m just Muggle Liaison, Ms. Lovetti. I can send you along to, er, the Excuse Committee, or perhaps the aurors who handled the case?”

“... Yes, that would be brilliant.”

“Which one?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Whom would you like to be directed to?”

“The ones who handled her case, please.”

“Ah, that’s Ronald Weasley and Angelina Johnson. Second floor. You know how to get back to the elevators from here, don’t you?” 

“Oh, yes, it’s just Fibonacci. One more question: how is the, um, Excuse Committee involved?”

“Well, her killer was a Muggle, so we had to deal with their police,” Garland looked at her curiously, “This would have been in the report, I’m sure.”

Lovetti shrugged, “Must be yet another inconsistency,” she hurried away.

“You forgot your -” he looked in the box outside his office. It was already empty. Garland navigated the shifting hallways quickly, but when he got to the elevator, she’d already taken it down. 

Harry and Hermione met Garland pacing outside the elevator. 

“Alright, Earl?” said Harry. 

“I think there’s a Muggle in the ministry,” he hissed, shoving them back inside the elevator and pressing the button for the second floor. 

“How did they get in?” asked Hermione.

“I don’t know!”

“How much do they know? What have they seen?”

“She knows Beatrix Zelda is an alias. I don’t know where else she’s been in the building. I thought she worked at the registry or something! She had some questions about the case, so I sent her down to -  _ Weasley _ !”

“Alright, Earl?”

“No, not alright! Where’s the Muggle gone?”

“What are you on about?”

“The name’s Lovetti. Short. Brown hair. Blue eyes.”

“Hey,” Harry flipped through his ticketbook, “I know a Lovetti -” 

“That’s her!” Garland spotted her talking to Angelina at the auror’s desk. 

“So she was an Italian citizen,” Lovetti clarified, jotting down her notes the Muggle way, with a ballpoint pen, “killed on British soil.”

“No, she was a  _ dual _ citizen,” Angelina explained. 

“But the fact remains, we have no record of a Beatrice Zabini -”

“Well, she’s a pure-”

“Pure soul, so sad, her death,” Garland interrupted, beckoning away a very confused Angelina, “Will you excuse us a moment, Ms. Lovetti?”

The brunette nodded. 

“I just checked our case files on the pudding explosion. She’s a Muggle alright. I’ll get Regina.” Harry took out his wand.

“Not in front of the Muggle!” Garland hissed. “Oh, I’m going to be fired, aren’t I?”

Harry left the bullpen to conjure his patronus. 

“You will have a secrecy statute hearing,” Hermione turned to Garland, “and if you didn’t know she was a Muggle, you might be in the clear. You  _ are _ Muggle Liaison after all, and that comes with certain privileges as far as what you might be at liberty to say.”

“I’ll go talk to her,” said Ron, “Find out who she is, how she got in here.”

“Hermione, go with him,” Angelina massaged her temples, “I guess we’ll both be tried together, Mr…?”

“Earl Garland,” the muggleborn shook her hand, “I should get back to my department while I have one… Pleased to meet you, wish it were under better circumstances.”

“Likewise,” the auror grimaced, discreetly casting silencing charms around her desk. 

“Ms. Lovetti,” Hermione pulled up a chair next to Ron’s, “Are you close to your cousin, Mia Lovetti?”

“Why this is relevant to a murder investigation?” Lovetti crossed her arms pointedly.

“Are you with Scotland Yard, Ms. Lovetti?” asked Ron, “Or perhaps the press?”

“I’m an independent investigator,” she turned up her chin, “and you are?”

“Christi Lovetti!” Regina Cattermole extended her hand warmly, “You remember me, don’t you?”

Lovetti stood to greet her, even as a confused frown fell over her face, “Weren’t you with the cleaning company?” 

“I’m with the agency that  _ services _ the cleaning company. We also service this particular firm.”

“And what services do you provide exactly? Furthermore, what does this ‘firm’  _ do _ ?” she side-eyed Ron and Hermione coldly. 

“Come with me and I’ll be happy to explain.”

“I’m comfortable right here,” she sat back down and crossed her legs, “Thank you very much.”

Just then, Jeremia Podmore stormed through the bullpen, orange robes billowing behind her. 

“Podmore,” Bardin intercepted her, “how may I help you?” 

“You  _ could _ get the Muggle out of your department!” she hissed, “Garland just informed me! What kind of ship are you running here?”

“From what I understand, the weak link was in  _ your _ department -”

“ _ Garland’s _ department,” she growled.

“We can keep passing the blame around,” Harry interrupted them, “ _ or _ we can figure out how to help Ms. Cattermole. She wasn’t able to Obliviate Christi at Christmas either because she’s a Muggle and can only sustain so many memory modifications without permanent damage to her hippocampus.” 

“What’s this got to do with her hippopotamus?” asked Bardin.

“It's her hippo--Nevermind." Harry pushed his glasses further up his nose. "Here's what's happened: She’s been trying to find out where Mia goes to school. Mia’s parents tell contradicting stories. Christi’s been near Hogsmeade, seen an elf when the Shrieking Shack was attacked -- I managed to convince her it was a homeless child and that I was with social services -- Look, the  _ point _ is, we just need an excuse as to why, if neither Beatrice Zabini nor Beatrix Zelda exist, a Muggle man was arrested for her murder.” 

Bardin and Podmore exchanged a look. 

“MI6?” she raised an eyebrow.

“I love playing that.” Bardin looked positively chuffed.

“That won’t explain away Hogwarts,” Harry looked between the two curiously, “and please don’t say you’re training Mia to be a spy.”

“Of course not!” Podmore scoffed. “For future reference, Potter, if anyone ever has any questions about Hogwarts, it is an alternative school that focuses on spiritual development.” 

“Er, right.”

The two department heads tugged the Muggle-Worthy chains on the inside of the robes and strode towards Christi Lovetti with confident, stern airs. They brought her into ‘interrogation’ and got her to leave the building within the next hour. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I almost forgot to post this chapter. I hope I haven't kept you waiting too long! Let me know what you think! :)


	8. Small Victories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously: Ginny gets scouted for the Harpies, George and Angelina get along until they don't, ill-advised former Slytherins rob Gringotts, Lee Jordan takes his radio show to the Veterans' Agency, and a Muggle infiltrates the Ministry so officials are forced to play it like they're MI6.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is a bit late!!! Please accept this extra long, extra dramatic chapter in apology!!!
> 
> Thank you to my wonderful beta, elanev91, for making me explain myself in unambiguous detail when I don't do it by default XD

“ _ Ugh _ !”

They say one day you wake up to find your idols are only human. 

“ _ Again _ !”

Throughout the month of March, Ginny discovered that Gwenog Jones was just like one very specific human - herself. 

“ _ C’mon, you worthless princesses _ !  _ Get your arses into position _ !” 

Naturally, she had to respect her. But the unforgiving hours they kept were more than anything she’d ever done for her house team. 

“ _ Looking good, Woollongong Weasley _ !” Jones praised her maneuver.

“Thanks, Coach!” she yelled. 

They’d been playing for ten hours straight. Romilda Vane, one of the seekers-in-training on Ginny’s team, had yet to catch the snitch, which was practically taunting her and the other seeker, Hilda Williams. Committing a snitchnip foul was seeming more attractive by the minute. 

“Left, Vane!” Ginny screamed when she saw the little gold ball. “Up! To your right now!”

“Oh, bollocks!” Vane missed again. 

The snitch fluttered just out of her reach before zooming off and quickly outstripping her broom. 

“ _ Mind your own job, Weasley _ ,” Jones warned from the ground. 

“Yes, Coach,” Ginny made another half-hearted goal. The other team’s keeper, Dalia Lemille, wasn’t even trying anymore. Ginny’s team was up five-hundred and seventy points. 

Williams dove towards the ground suddenly, followed by Vane. Ginny’s first thought was ‘ _ finally _ ,’ but then she saw the bright and shiny gold ball fluttering up right up between two of Lemille’s goalposts. 

“It’s a Wronski, Vane!” Ginny scored another ten points in the process to cushion the telling-off she was going to get from Jones for interfering again. “ _ Pull up _ !”

Vane did so after Williams, who caught the snitch after knocking into Lemille, allowing Ginny to make another goal. 

“ _ Showers now, we’ll discuss how you fared tomorrow _ ,” Jones announced, “ _ Quietus _ .” 

“You were brilliant, Gin.” Lemille grinned as they landed together. 

“You went easy on me,” Ginny sighed with relief to be back on the ground, which was a completely foreign feeling to her. 

“Weasley,” Jones intercepted her, “a word?”

“See you.” Lemille waved. 

“Later.” Ginny returned the gesture before folding her arms and facing her coach. 

“Are you a seeker, Weasley?” Jones addressed her star player sternly. 

“No, ma’am.”

“Have I signed you to play seeker?” 

“No, ma’am.”

“Then let your seeker do her job.” 

Ginny released her arms to gesticulate broadly, “But she’s not -”

“Then take it up with her off the pitch.” Jones said with finality. 

“I  _ have _ , but she -”

“You’ll have to learn to work with all sorts when you’re on a professional team, Weasley. No automatic house solidarity out here. Just you, your team, and the opposition. Is that clear?” 

“Yes, Coach.”  _ No automatic house solidarity between myself and Vane, either _ , Ginny grumbled inwardly. 

“And tell Lemille if she doesn’t bring it like you do, she’ll never make it beyond the reserve team.” Jones’ tone was light once more.

“Yes, Coach!” Ginny allowed a tired grin. Whoever said smiling took less energy than a frown was lying. 

Immediately upon entering the locker room, Ginny shrugged off her green Harpies robes. 

“Dalia!” She called to her friend, pulling out her hair tie with zero regard for her scalp. “Coach says you need to get on my level.” 

“I’ll make your life a living hell from now on, promise.” Lemille shook out her long dirty blonde hair matted and tangled with sweat. 

“God, I could sleep for a week.” Brown-haired and brown-eyed Williams sat down under a boiling-hot stream of water and buried her face in her knees. “That snitch was out to get us.”

Vane scoffed, massaging some conditioner into her dark, curly locks. “More like that  _ bitch _ -”

“What’s that, Vane?” Ginny barked. Ordinary human or no, Jones was still one of Ginny’s most revered role models and she would not stand for anyone disrespecting her behind her back, least of all Romilda Vane. 

“Newsflash, Weasley,” Vane called over the wall separating their showers, “this isn’t Hogwarts and you’re not our capt-”

“Uh, objection, relevance?” You wouldn’t know it by the quickness of the comeback, but Ginny was running out of responses for Vane constantly reminding her that she was no longer top-dog on the pitch. 

“Were you not breaking your back out there for ten hou-”

“Oh,  _ Merlin _ , can we  _ please _ just get some peace and  _ quiet _ !” Williams was near tears. 

“Sorry, Hilda,” Ginny murmured, “Here, let me undo your braids for you…”

The other girls scattered to the neighbouring showers and for a while, there was only the soft pitter-patter on the tiles and calm diffusing of steam. 

“I don’t know how you do it,” Williams sniffed, “with five older brothers -”

“Six,” Ginny smoothed out the other girl’s hair.

“ _ Merlin _ ….” Williams’ older brother, Benjy, was on the Puddlemere United team, so she felt she had a lot to live up to. 

“Hey, you caught the snitch, didn’t you?” 

Williams sighed heavily, “Vane hardly gave me a run for my galleons.” 

“Tell you what,” Ginny ran her fingers through Williams’ locks, making sure the water got through, “I played seeker a bit in school. If you think me a worthy opponent we can have a go whenever we get the chance.”

“I’d like that. At any rate, you can teach me how to avoid the bludgers better.”

“Good. So get up, get clean, and get some rest.”

“Thanks, Ginny.” She stood slowly so as not to slip. 

Ginny was not so cautious and almost injured herself. “Whoa, that was close,” the redhead laughed in her sleepy state. 

“Shower’s all yours,” Williams summoned a fluffy mint green towel. 

“Ta,” Ginny sighed happily, stepping into the spray and letting it massage her aching bones. 

Fifteen minutes later, she was toweled off and practically sprinting to the bunk bed she shared with Lemille when a gratingly sweetened voice pierced her eardrums. “Why if it isn’t Harry Potter! What brings you all the way out here?” 

_ Shit _ .  _ Date-night _ . Hadn’t she sent an owl saying she didn’t know when practice would end since Jones wanted to run another practice game? No, she hadn’t. She’d meant to, but she hadn’t. Merlin’s cruddy beard, she was the worst girlfriend ever. 

“It’s about to rain.” Romilda Vane waved her wand gently too and fro like a personal wiper for Harry’s fogged up glasses. 

Well, Ginny supposed Harry could do worse. 

“Why don’t you come inside, hmm?” Vane simpered. “I’ll put the kettle on.”

Yet another reason why she absolutely could not stand the other witch: her obsession with the man who was so very clearly  _ Ginny’s _ boyfriend.

“Oi, Potter!” Ginny called out after putting a deepening spell on her voice box so she sounded almost like her brother Bill. 

Harry jumped away from Vane. “Jeez, I thought something came up at work for a second!” 

Ginny reversed her little spell so her voice was back to normal. “Sorry, love. Something did come up at work on my end.” She wasn’t so crass as to say that ‘ _ someone _ couldn’t catch the snitch’ but she did give Vane a very pointed look. 

“Er, right,” Harry looked between the girls who looked like they might start dueling if one of them so much as twitched. “Uh… Gin, if you want to reschedule -”

“Nope, I’m good, let’s go!” Ginny apparated them to the porch of Grimmauld Place.

Harry let them in and Kreacher hemmed and hawed about how they were dripping on the carpet. 

Ginny noticed the successfully blasted off bit of wall where Walburga Black’s portrait used to be. “Ah, I see you’ve managed -”

“ _ Aaaaahhheeeeeeiiiiii _ !” a blood-curdling scream caused the ripped wallpaper to flutter. 

Harry shook his head in a long-suffering manner. “I put a silencing charm on the second floor, so we won’t be bothered by -”

“ _ Aaaaahhheeeeeeiiiiii _ !”

“- that,” he finished. “Also, how the  _ hell _ did  _ Romilda Vane _ make it into bootcamp? She never even played Quidditch at Hogwarts!”

“Her mother’s in the Ministry’s Games Department,” Ginny rolled her eyes. “I’m sure if Coach has anything to say about it, she won’t make it any further, but  _ Morgana’s cauldron _ , is she a pain in the arse to train with!”

“Bet it makes you look good, though, doesn’t it?” Harry tried to lighten her mood. 

“Would if she were vying for a chaser position,” she sighed ruefully, “Ah, well, enough about work -”

“Oh, the day you call Quidditch ‘work!’ A sad day, indeed!”

“You would too if you’d signed with Puddlemere.” She poked his chest in mock accusation. “Instead they’ve got Benjy Williams, who according to his little sister is basically a god on the pitch - well! I’ll believe it when I -”

“ _ Aaaaahhheeeeeeiiiiii _ !” Walburga Black’s garbled scream interrupted her. 

“Ooh, that goes straight through my skull,” Ginny stumbled towards the stairs. 

Harry looped her arm through his and apparated them to the master bedroom. 

“ _ So _ much better than a bunk.” She collapsed onto what Harry called the ‘smart mattress’ that morphed to cradle the person resting on it more snuggly. “Ugh, that hits the spot.” Suddenly, she bolted upright. “Give me two minutes and I’ll be ready to go to dinner or a Muggle movie or whatever you --”

Harry smiled fondly at her. “I think a sleepover would be just as fun as a date night.”

“No, come on, it’s no trouble, really!” Ginny stood, despite the cramp in her thighs from clinging to her broom all day. “I just need to --” she waved her wand rapidly over her person, transforming in ever so slight increments from a tired-out quidditch player to a girl ready for a night out. 

“ _ Expelliarmus _ ,” Harry caught her wand. “I’m serious, Gin. I don’t mind. To be honest, work was pretty shit on my end too.” It wasn’t. It was so boring. But he knew Ginny wanted to believe him, so it was easy to convince her. 

“Oh, thank Merlin, I love you.” Blissfully, she fell back into the mattress, which promptly scooped her like a babe. “Night-night!”

“Night, love,” Harry tossed his glasses on the nightstand and tucked himself in beside her. 

*****

Neville and his grandmother apparated to Diagon Alley, underneath the red and white striped awning of the veteran’s agency. 

“Watch out for the pie, Neville!” Mrs. Longbottom snapped, holding her shepherd’s pie out of his way. 

“Sorry, here, let me -”

“Get your grubby paws off! It’s for the veterans’ potluck!”

“I know, Gran.” Neville smiled indulgently. “S’just if you keep holding it sideways like that -”

“I know what I’m doing!”

“Alright, alright.” He pulled the door open and stepped aside to let a wizard with two pairs of prosthetic legs through first. 

“Thank you, son,” the old man grinned but it came off more as a grimace. 

“You ought to have that adjusted,” Mrs. Longbottom advised. “Even magical prosthetics have a hard time adapting to old age, you know.”

“I would if I could move up the waitlist,” he shrugged. On his head, his wizard’s hat shifted back so it was dangerously close to falling off. The hat had a wide brim and a crisp, tall point that hadn’t been in style for a while now. 

Mrs. Longbottom took the older veteran aside, saying, “My grandson is courting a Healer -”

Neville flushed in embarrassment, but he’d never tell his gran that there was a slight difference in connotation between ‘dating’ and ‘courting,’ much less that he would prefer her usage of one over the other. 

“That’s wonderful, congratulations,” the old-fashioned veteran sat down on a bench beside Mrs. Longbottom so Neville was close enough to read the small, faded model number on his ankle. He knew enough to know it had been recalled after 1981 due to certain defects that caused hip problems later in life. 

“I can talk to her if you like, sir,” Neville offered. “See if there’s anything she can -”

“Ah, that’s too kind of you, but please don’t bother her. I’m sure there are many others higher on the list for a reason. Maybe they’ve got kids to raise or a lover or -”

“Stuff and nonsense!” Mrs. Longbottom scoffed. “Your quality of life is just as important, Mr…?”

“Williams. My kids are all grown -”

“Lucky you. My charge is still as scatterbrained as a teenager.” 

Mr. Williams had to look up to see Neville properly. “Oh, I think he’s a fine lad. But while you’re talking to your Healer friend -”

“I’ll not hear another word of protest -”

“Please, let him finish, Gran,” Neville interjected with a polite smile to the veteran. 

“I have a few friends who are on waitlists too.” Mr. Williams gestured back inside the building. “Perhaps you could lend them a hand? One has a serious heart condition and another’s immune system hasn’t been the same since a bout with Dragon Pox…” 

Neville and his gran met each of Mr. Williams’ friends in turn, promising to get in touch with Mungo’s on their behalf before departing from the potluck. Mrs. Longbottom never put much stock in social gatherings. She was an in-and-out kind of guest. 

"I'll go see Hannah right away," said Neville after apparating them home.

"Invite her to dinner tonight. We're having roast chicken."

"I'll tell her." He smiled, disapparating with a  _ pop _ !

He was soon within white-washed walls and bright lights of Mungo's just outside the Janus Thickey ward. There were heavy forest-green curtains separating beds, waiting rooms, and wards. Everything smelled like it had just been  _ Scourgified _ . This was always the spot he found first because it was the one he was most familiar with. Once he was there he could find his way to any other part of the hospital with ease.

“Neville!” Hannah practically skipped out of the Janus Thickey ward to greet him with open arms.

“Hannah? What are you doing here?” Neville’s eyes widened in surprise. Hannah was supposed to be stationed in Emergency. 

“I was able to get reassigned! You know my true fascination has always been on the brain and -”

“Ah! Mr. Pernshwick!” Gilderoy Lockhart clapped Neville on the shoulder. “How have you  _ been _ , old boy?” His wavy blond locks were graying now and his handsome face was developing wrinkles. 

“Er,” Neville extricated himself from the man’s hold. “Fine, thanks.”

“Jolly good! Jolly good! Welcome to my humble abode. Cynthia,” he turned to Hannah, “be a dear and fetch Mr. Pernshwick a glass of our  _ finest _ wine, would you?”

“Certainly.” Hannah fought to keep a smirk off her face. “Why don’t you wait in the parlour?” She led him back into the ward and distracted him with a game of wizard’s chess. “He always takes ages to decide on a move,” she whispered to Neville, taking him to a more private spot. “So is there anything I can do for you?”

“I… I don’t  _ only _ visit you when I need something, do I?” he looked at her earnestly. 

Hannah blushed and tucked a stray blonde lock behind her ear, under her Healer’s cap. “Well… nine times out of ten and all that - not that I mind, of course. I like spending time with you, Neville. No matter what we’re doing or what we’re talking about.”

It was Neville’s turn to blush at that. “Oh, that’s… me too! You’re very…” he appeared to be having trouble selecting from a wide variety of pleasant adjectives before he settled on, “lovely.”

She giggled, pleased, her cheeks colouring further. 

Neville thought she looked like a  _ sol clara _ rose, a special wizarding variety which had bright yellow petals that pinked slightly at the tip and around the edges and smelled like a summer breeze on a beach front. He could scarcely catch his breath before saying, “Wouldyouliketocometodinnertonight?”

“Uh, sorry? I didn’t quite catch that.”

“Would you… like to come to dinner… tonight?” Neville swallowed hard and tried in vain to get his tongue to work at a normal speed. “Gran’s making... roast chicken.”

“I’d love to,” she smiled widely. “Now, what do you need?” 

He told her about the veteran waitlist with some initial difficulty as he was still thinking about how her smile was as bright as a  _ lux margarita _ , a wizarding plant with berries the lustre of pearls. 

“I’ll look into it and volunteer to help,” she promised. “I’ll see about rallying some of the other Healers-in-training to do the same.”

“Thank you, Hannah,” he breathed properly for what felt like the first time in minutes. “See you tonight!”

“See you then!” Hannah tiptoed to kiss his cheek briefly before Lockhart declared he’d completed his ‘genius’ move and she had to attend to him. 

*****

“You stand out like a lighthouse on a port,” Rolf chuckled, standing close to the treeline by the river. His dark hair and skin afforded him a natural camouflage. He only wore khaki shorts, having long-since discarded his offending shirt, which did nothing for him in the heat. 

“Like a Heliopath on the plains, my father used to say,” Luna smiled softly, tying off her platinum blonde side braid, using the water as her mirror. South America was so warm, she found herself sweating all the time. Her father said it was cleansing and that it warded off nargles, so she thought it was worth bearing. 

“Like a Thunderbird in the sky,” her companion added before shaking himself. They were business partners and a joint venture. Fellow explorers and intellects on an expedition. Friends. Nothing more. Rolf was much older than her, after all, and that… could be bad? For some reason? The boy couldn’t fathom human society sometimes. 

“Rolf, look!” Luna picked up a feather that had floated downstream. “It’s the kind favoured by Pukwudgies for their arrows, isn’t it?”

“You may be right,” he examined the feather with her, leaning perhaps a touch closer than was absolutely necessary, “Pukwudgies enjoy hunting, so we’ll need to be careful as they follow their game closely.”

They trekked back into the trees and followed the river in their shade. 

“Whoops!” Luna stumbled over a root and gripped Rolf’s hand tightly for support. “Sorry, I’m not usually such a klutz.” She smiled, sky-blue eyes shining. 

“S’alright,” he cleared his throat. He knew Luna never tripped or misstepped. She had the feet of an agile doe and an unparalleled sense of self-awareness. 

Furthermore, she had yet to let go of his hand and made no move to do so, simply swinging it to and fro as she stepped lightly over all other roots, small fungi and underbrush. 

The pair moved silently through the forest like they’d lived there all their lives. Rolf, with a slightly more trained ear, heard some faint rustling just before Luna did. They both stopped in their tracks and turned towards the sound of a reedy bough stretching.

“ _ Protego _ !” Luna cried, a poison arrow bouncing off her shield. 

“ _ Arresto momentum _ !” Rolf gave himself time to duck out of the way of a second arrow, having his wand in hand just a moment’s notice behind Luna. 

“ _ Immobulus _ !” the girl stopped the hail of poison-tipped arrows, their tail ends feathered by the same plumage she had found in the river. 

A battle cry resounded and the pair were set upon by Pukwudgie hunters, who looked like a very angry cross between goblins and house-elves. 

“ _ Hurt them not _ !” The leader spoke in ancient Pukwudgie so Rolf couldn’t understand him. He grabbed onto the end of Luna’s braid and pulled her down to the ground so the short creatures - none of them were taller than three feet - could tie them to thick wooden stakes. “ _ This one is a child of the snow! The gods must receive them in the best condition _ !”

“ _ Luna _ !” Rolf fended off his captors, which was a struggle as he simultaneously endeavoured not to harm them. 

“It’s alright, we’ve got time yet!” With her hands tied behind her back, Luna reached into the back pocket of her cargo pants and brought out a shiny gold galleon. She touched the tip of her wand to the coin before they were both wrenched from her grasp. 

When Ron and Hermione’s galleons began smoking in their pockets, the former was testifying at Henry Lee’s hearing for assault on an officer of the law, which could add years to his existing sentence for the Gringotts robbery, while the latter was volunteering as second chair to the defense as part of her Magister-at-Law practicum. 

The old judge coughed and squinted to see them through the smoke. “Do you both need a moment?” 

“I just have a few more questions, your honour.” Hermione remained focused on the witness. “Ronald Weasley, did you or your partner, Angelina Johnson, identify yourselves as aurors before you approached our client?” 

“No, we didn’t have time -”

“And is it just possible that he could not see your auror’s robes through all the smoke, which we know from  _ the Daily Prophet  _ photographs was even thicker than what is in this room right now?” 

“Yes, it is entirely possible.” 

“Objection,” the prosecution, a stern-faced wizard with a large bald spot, rose from his seat, “the witness is compromised due to his relationship with the -”

“I have no relationship with our client nor with the people whose money he stole,” Hermione interjected, “and that is the only measure of impartiality that matters in this court.”

“Overruled,” said the judge.

“No further questions, your honour,” Hermione fished her galleon out of her pocket and read the numbers on the curved edge once, twice. She turned around and locked eyes with Ron, whose face was grim. He’d seen it too. 

“Henry Lee,” the judge raised his gavel, “you are cleared of your assault charges,” he brought the gavel down. 

“Good job on the last witness,” said the defense, a young witch with a short bob of blonde hair and deep blue eyes that were almost seaweed green. 

“Thanks, Ms. Clearwater,” Hermione beamed at her old schoolmate, casting a cooling charm on her fake galleon before it melted. 

“Well, I won’t keep you, I reckon you’ve got somewhere to be,” she exited the chambers through one of the ministry employee side-doors. 

Ron and Hermione met outside the main doors of the courtroom so they could line up for the floo. 

“What do the numbers mean?” he asked her immediately, “Can you find out who sent them?”

“Coordinates, I think,” Hermione touched her wand to the globe charm, one of many on her enchanted bracelet, which was a Christmas gift from Harry. “South America! That’s where Luna and Rolf -” 

“Thank you so much, Ms. Granger!” Henry Lee waddled up to her, magically-reinforced shackles and all, to shake her hand. Just behind him stood his young father, Barnaby. 

“Thank you for representing us.” Barnaby shook her hand as well. “I couldn’t believe it when I heard  _ you _ volunteered.”

“One must always speak up in the name of justice,” Hermione smiled at them both. “Please let me know when you get a date for the parole hearing. I’d like to be there if you’ll have me.”

“Of course!” said Henry as the aurors led him away. 

Barnaby was more subdued after that. “I know robbing Gringotts of all places was a foolish move on his part, but… Azkaban is such a… He’s never been as… jubilant… as I see him now since his mother’s passing. The Healers say it has to do with prolonged exposure to dementors followed by relief when he’s brought here, away from them…”

Hermione made a mental note to lobby for prison reform. “He’s young, Mr. Lee, and very likely to get parole if his good behavior continues.”

“Yes,” the father took a deep breath, “yes, you’re right. Thank you again, Ms. Granger. I won’t keep you any longer.”

It was Ron and Hermione’s turn to use the floo and they took it directly to the South American wizarding embassy, which was a crowded, hot, and sticky wing of their ministry as so many magical communities from so many countries relied on it for governance and civil services. 

A dark-haired wizard with an obvious pink scar on his forehead was gazing with wonder up at the high, cathedral-like ceiling that had fat, pink messenger cherubs flying across it. 

“Harry!” Ron and Hermione exclaimed. 

“You got the coordinates too, then?” Ron held up his galleon.

Harry nodded, “Just waiting on the portkey. Charlie’s here, did you know?” 

“Oh yeah, something about an explosion in the Peruvian Vipertooth population?”

“I don’t know, but he was in a big hurry. Just left with his portkey, so they’ve started on ours -”

“Portkey for Mr. Potter,” a gray Pukwudgie called out. “Activating in the next fifteen seconds!”

“Thank you,” Harry received a rusted horseshoe over the counter and held it out to Hermione and Ron. 

The trio were tugged inward from the navel and began to spin dizzyingly before being thrust outward. They landed in the middle of a dense tropical forest with Hermione holding the horseshoe. 

“Pukwudgie arrows!” Hermione ran to where a cluster of them were immobilized mid-air. “Careful, they’re poison-tipped!”

Ron cast a diagnostic spell and swept it about the area. “From Luna’s wand, alright. Some of the other spells must come from Rolf’s.”

“Tracks lead away from the river,” said Harry, who had to cast  _ Lumos _ to see properly under the thick canopy. 

“Pukwudgies can apparate,” Hermione warned them, “so be on your guard.”

“Smoke up ahead,” Ron murmured, taking longer strides than the other two could manage. As he caught sight of the camp, he crouched and signaled the others to do so as well. 

The campsite was surrounded by a low fence of animal bones and the Pukwudgie tents were made of silver fur that seemed to shimmer and blend with the surrounding forest, you almost didn’t know if you were seeing an illusion or something that was truly there. 

“They’re going to burn them!” Harry exclaimed softly, watching as four Pukwudgies lowered Luna and Rolf over a raging bonfire.

“Relax,” said Hermione, “people have been trying to burn wizards and witches at stakes for years. It doesn’t work.”

“But when they find out it doesn’t work…” Ron’s face contorted into a look of worry. “They’ve got their poison.”

“Our portkey expires and will take us back in half an hour,” said Harry, “but we don’t have that long. Hermione -”

“I can shorten our time,” she nodded confidently, pointing her wand at the horseshoe, “How long do you want?”

“Thirty seconds?” 

Hermione waved her wand and the portkey began to glow brighter and brighter. 

“One of the lookouts is heading this way!” Ron hissed, “I think they see the light!”

“Just say when,” Hermione looked to Harry, who was glancing quickly between the Pukwudgie guards at the fence and the ones surrounding the priestess standing in front of the magizoologist barbeque.

“When!” Harry called, darting forward and stunning three guards. 

Ron ran out after him, casting a strong  _ Protego _ around them both. 

“Don’t hurt them!” Rolf and Luna yelled at once. 

“They think we’re the children of the gods of the seasons!” Luna explained. 

“You speak ancient Pukwudgie?” Rolf turned to her in pleasant surprise. 

“ _ Protego Maxima _ !” Ron yelled, “We won’t have to hurt them if we can get you out of here in the next thirty -”

“Twenty!” Hermione freed the captives with a well-aimed  _ Diffindo _ .

“Twenty seconds!” Ron amended, “Harry, get your arse over here!”

“Grab the horseshoe!” Hermione held it out to the magizoologists. “Harry! Ten seconds!”

Harry lunged and grabbed the horseshoe, turning back to a Pukwudgie guard who was raising his bow, “ _ Stupefy _ !”

“ _ Harry Potter _ !” Luna chided him. 

“Yeah, well, I’d hardly be the Boy Who Lived if I died!” he shot back, then immediately looked appropriately chastised as she glowered at him. 

“They don’t know any bet-” she was cut off abruptly as their portkey activated and brought them back to the lobby of the South American embassy.

Rolf stumbled into another travelling wizard, “Sorry, sorry.”

Luna held his arm tightly to keep him upright, “Rolf, you don’t look so -”

He turned away and vomited. 

“Oh, there, there,” she rubbed soothing circles across his back. 

“Sorry, I don’t… do well with -”

“Yes, I remember.” Luna smiled, but that only made Rolf more embarrassed. So she turned away from him and towards her friends. “Thank you for coming to help us.”

“Of course, er,” Hermione took the younger girl aside as Harry and Ron helped Rolf to a nearby bench where he could sit until his head and insides stopped spinning, “You don’t have to go back there... to continue your expedition, do you?”

“Oh, no, we were tasked to investigate the decrease in the Hidebehind population. Charlie Weasley thought it was the Vipertooths, but Rolf and I thought it was the Pukwudgies. And we were right! They’ve learned to hunt their predators and use their skins and bones in their camp!”

“Fascinating!” Hermione had loved Care of Magical Creatures, as difficult as she had found it in school compared to her other, more theoretical, subjects. 

“Can we take the floo back to England, please?” Rolf mumbled, hugging his stomach with both arms. 

“Sure thing, mate,” Ron clapped him on the back, perhaps a bit too forcefully, and the magizoologist let out a low moan. 

“Are you sure about this one?” Hermione whispered to Luna, who’d been staring fondly at Rolf since he started talking again. 

“As sure as I am about nargles,” Luna let out a floaty sigh, a soft smile gracing her pale features.

*****

“Let me help you with that, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry moved a bowl of sweet potatoes to the table the Muggle way, by carrying it with his own two hands. 

“Call me Molly, Harry,” the matron ruffled his already messy hair tenderly, “How many times do I have to tell you?”

Soon, the Burrow was alive with conversation over a hearty supper. They were celebrating the success of Henry Lee’s parole hearing and Ginny’s first real day off from training, having been going at it for almost two months straight. 

“Ms. Clearwater is a godsend to Lee’s case,” Hermione was saying, “Not many defense lawyers would have taken him seriously - just because he’s a Slytherin!”

“The Clearwaters also remained neutral in the war,” Percy pushed his new horn-rimmed glasses further up his nose, “Ran off to America like a lot of cowards.”

“I don’t recall you standing up for what’s right at first either,  _ Perce _ ,” Ron snapped, setting down his fork and knife. 

“Well, I stood up when it  _ mattered _ , didn’t I?”

“And now Penelope is too,” George shrugged, “so what’s the problem?”

Percy’s face was just shy of puce. “The  _ problem _ -”

Suddenly, the fireplace spat out Charlie Weasley in a roguish blur of soot, ash, fireproof robes, and, of course, flaming red hair. 

“Hullo, family,” he was paradoxically soft-spoken compared to his appearance. The man picked up his soil- and grass-stained knapsack that had fallen off his shoulder and ended up at his booted feet. When he looked up again, all the Weasleys were surrounding him with bright, eager faces.

Harry and Hermione shared a clueless look before Fleur, who looked like she might go into labour any day now, explained, “Bill told me: Charlie always brings gifts when ‘e comes ‘ome. To make up for being away for so long an’ not writing because ‘e is très terrible at it.”

There was a Muggle atlas for Mr. Weasley, yarn from llama wool for Mrs. Weasley, a poncho for Bill as well as a baby-sized one that matched, a text on South American runes for Percy, a black box in a tusk-like shape for George, a Peruvian wizard chess set for Ron, and a signed poster by the Peruvian National Quidditch team for Ginny. 

As Charlie was busy handing out gifts, Mrs. Weasley managed to herd him unwittingly to the dinner table. Then, seated elbow to elbow in between George and Ginny there was no escaping human socialization. Luckily, his family was very talkative and he could just eat without having to say much while his mouth was full. His mother thought he had wonderful manners rather than a deepset anxiety regarding social situations and he let her go on thinking it. 

“This atlas is more complete than most wizarding maps!” Mr. Weasley was delighted. 

“It’s rather focused on the minutiae though, isn’t it?” Percy read idly over his shoulder every now and then, mostly absorbed in his own book. “The Muggles must really need to be led by the hand through everything.”

“It’s precise and rich,” Hermione narrowed her eyes at Percy, nostrils flaring. 

“I wonder if the pieces in your new chess set fight differently, Ron,” Ginny said loudly in an effort to end the argument before it started. 

“Let’s see,” Ron opened the board and set the pieces down, “Three galleons says I beat you in under twenty moves.”

“Five galleons says it takes no more than fifteen,” George put his money on the table. 

“Hey!” Ginny protested, “I thought  _ I  _ was your favourite sibling!”

“If we were betting on Quidditch, yes. But this is chess, Gin-gin.”

“Seven galleons says Ron will beat her between fifteen and twenty moves,” said Harry, relishing the way Ginny looked at him like she was about to do all manner of nasty things to him, “but Ginny takes his queen and one of his knights.”

“Alright, any more takers?” Ron looked about the table. “Going once, going twice…”

Mrs. Weasley opened her mouth to begin a lecture on the pitfalls of gambling. 

“Let’s play!” Ginny leaned in to begin making friends with her pieces so that they’d give her advice on how to win. 

Once the meal and conversation had died down - and Harry was seven galleons richer - Charlie rose and backed towards the fireplace. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Mrs. Weasley waved a ladle at him. 

Charlie looked to his left - Bill and Ginny had crossed their arms over their chests in an uncannily similar way - and he looked to his right - Arthur, Percy, and Ron were chewing the insides of their cheeks. They knew he was going to leave real soon again, like always. Guilt bloomed like a Devil’s Snare in the pit of his stomach. If he were to be comfortable around any flesh and blood creature, it ought to be them, and he  _ was _ , but… this time he really did have to go.

"Um… Romania?" Charlie tried.

There was a chorus of "But you just got here!" before Charlie was able to speak again. 

"There's an entire Fireball family coming in from China this evening. I've really got to be there."

"When will you be back?" asked Ginny.

"Uh… soon?"

There was a chorus of "That's not an answer!" but Charlie managed to duck under the mantle and into the fireplace. Then he was flying through the network before tumbling out in the Bulgarian Ministry, International Cooperation division. 

Immediately, four dark-cloaked wizards set upon him and divested him of his wand until they could confirm his identity - all standard procedure in Bulgaria. 

Then he was escorted by a Legilimens witch to the room of mission portkeys - fugitives' last known coordinates, which were based on various tracking and alarm spells throughout Europe, that needed to be investigated.

"That's odd," said the Legilimens in a thick Bulgarian accent.

"What is?" Charlie turned to face her as she gave him a searching look. 

"See, still nothing!" she pouted, emphasizing the plumpness of her pink lips. "It's like you don't even notice me!"

"Of course I notice you," Charlie looked at her, puzzled. "Miroslava Jonavych, am I saying it right? I recognize you from secu-your Chocolate Frog card. You, uh, fought in the Durmstrang Bloodbath."

She didn’t seem to notice his near-slip-up. "We don't call it that here. We say ' _ Kruvna Banya na Durmstrang _ .'"

"What does that mean?"

She raised a blonde eyebrow impishly. "The bloodbath of Durmstrang."

Charlie chuckled. "Oh, you're a funny one."

"I try. Not everyone likes Bulgarian humour. They think it's mean-spirited."

"Spoilsports, the lot of them," Charlie declared. "Now where’s this coming from about me not noticing you?"

She blushed. "Oh, it - it's nothing.”

He didn't need Legilimency to know how she was feeling. "You mean I didn't start ogling you and falling at your feet when I arrived?"

" _ Whenever _ you arrive!" she corrected, "All our security detail assignments with the other International agents you never… never seem to notice that I… I'm a woman!"

Charlie guffawed, "Miroslava -"

"I wasn't trying to be funny -"

"I know and I... wasn't  _ entirely _ oblivious…" it was his turn to blush because he  _ had _ noticed her alluring alertness and captivating dueling skill while on security detail. "I just… can't I just notice that… you're a person… whom I… enjoy keeping company with?"

Slowly, she smiled. "You're not like other men, Charlie Weasley. Ah, here's our portkey."

They gripped the old milk bottle tightly, pale fingers interlocking and cerulean gazes mirroring each other. They spun out and when they lost momentum as they arrived at their destination, they began to feel brushes of rough bark and prickly pine against their faces, hands, and legs. They were dropped in a clearing next to a doe and her fawn. The creatures ran away quickly. 

“Forest, of course.” Charlie helped Miroslava stand. “It’s always a forest.”

“We have an hour,” she pocketed the portkey. “None of our people would be stupid enough to hide away this close to the border. They know they’d be discovered immediately. It must be one of yours.”

Charlie chuckled before muttering a customized tracking spell he often used on dragons and their prey. It was able to detect smaller traces of magic left by a mystical being that didn’t do very obvious things like cast spells or brew potions. It worked just as well for tracking a wizard or witch on the move. 

“This way.” He picked his way through the trees. 

They walked a long time and were almost across the Bulgarian border when a twig snapped underfoot ahead of them. 

“Get down!” Miroslava grabbed the back of his cloak and pulled hard. 

A killing curse flew past where Charlie’s head had been. 

“ _ Reducto _ !” Miroslava cried, felling two trees on either side of the hooded fugitive, who kept running, even as a young child’s wail pierced the air.

“Kidnapping. That’s new.” Charlie gave chase. “Did you get a good look?”

Miroslava was hot on his heels. “No, I was too busy saving your arse!  _ Stupefy _ !”

“Careful! He’s got a baby with him!”

“That’s why I’m not casting to kill!”

The fugitive spun around briefly to fire at Miroslava, his hood dropping to reveal his face. The man they were chasing was Rodolphus Lestrange. “ _ Avada Ke- _ ”

Charlie aimed. “ _ Accio baby _ !” 

“ _ No _ !” Rodolphus yelled. 

“Shh, hush now, it’s alright,” Charlie cooed at the little pale, dark-haired bundle clinging to his chest. “Aw, it’s a girl!”

“ _ Expelliarmus _ !  _ Incarcerous _ !” Miroslava yanked Lestrange towards them. “Who’s child is this?”

“I’ll never tal-”

“ _ Crucio _ !” 

The baby cried loudly as if she was the one who’d been hit. She reached for Lestrange helplessly. 

“I’ll only ask one more time,” Miroslava growled, “Remember you’re facing a dementor’s kiss. Who’s. Child. Is this.”

“You’d kill her if you knew.” Lestrange spat blood on her shoes. 

“We’re not like you,” Charlie spoke up, handing the child to Miroslava, who cradled her awkwardly. “There’s a very simple test we can do for something called DNA.” He pointed his wand at the child’s chest and murmured the incantation. Two faces rose in a whirl of soft white light and fog. 

“ _ Morgana’s cauldron _ …” Miroslava gasped, staring at the child and holding her even more gingerly if that were possible. 

Charlie sent a Norwegian Ridgeback patronus straight to Kingsley Shacklebolt. 

*****

The veteran’s agency on Diagon Alley was swarming with activity. 

“Headache relief over here!” Mrs. Longbottom was the director of operations. “Prosthetic adjustment, line up over there!”

George Weasley had repurposed a wide variety of prank remedies to help those who were still stuck on waitlists despite Hannah Abbott’s best efforts. 

“No, please, no payment is necessary,” Neville tried to explain as he performed a final physical using a basic spell Hannah had taught him.

“I do not take charity, young man!” said the wizard who was barely five years older than Neville at least. “And I am insulted that you think I would!” He slapped seven sickles on the table. 

“Sir, I only meant -”

“Neville,” Hannah cautioned him softly. “He has a heart condition from Cruciatus torture. Let him be. Give him a tax receipt. We’ll record it as a donation from him.”

“That’s good, Ms. Green,” Lee Jordan instructed his radio show’s newest guest host. “Yes, bring the microphone around quickly, don’t stick with one conversation too long. We don’t want to invade anyone’s privacy without their consent, simply capture the atmosphere.” 

“I’d like to interview the volunteer Healer first.” Ms. Green nodded in Hannah’s direction. “She was a student at Hogwarts and fought in the battle as well.”

“Excellent!” Lee turned about the room and found his friends easily. All he had to do was look for the redheads. “Thanks for helping out, you lot.” He pulled George and Ron in for a bear hug. “Say, Georgie, how’s Angelina these days?”

George started so badly, he dropped a bunch of Cuddling Cushions. “Huh? What? Uh...”

“I’ll, uh,” Ron backed away slowly, “go see if Neville needs any help at the check-up station.”

“I, uh,” George cleared his throat and turned back to Lee.  _ So much for brothers having your back. _ “Look, Lee, I know you liked Angelina at school and I shouldn’t have gone for ice cream with her. It just sort of happened -”

“Whoa, whoa, wait, you went for  _ ice cream _ ? When was  _ this _ ?  _ Bloody _ good show, mate!” Lee shook his shoulders enthusiastically. 

“It was a disaster, is what! She… she called me ‘Fred.’”

“Oh, bollocks, that’s -”

“Understandable,” George finished ruefully. “Anyway, as I was saying, she just came into the shop and it was my break and she suggested - but I shouldn’t have gone along with it -”

“George, no, hey, I had an enormous crush on her at school, but that’s all it ever was. A  _ crush _ . Anyway, if my mother ever got wind of me calling dibs on a girl, she’d skin me ali-ah!” Lee fished a smoking galleon out of his pocket.

George tossed his overheating DA coin from one palm to the other. “Hah-hah-hah!”

“Yours too?” Ron gathered around with Neville and Hannah. “The coordinates are for Grimmauld Place in case anyone was wondering.” 

“Nan,” Neville turned to his grandmother, “Are you alright to -”

“Yes, yes, go on!” the old lady shooed him off with his friends. 

They all apparated to the front stoop and let themselves in. Harry had recently cast a spell that allowed the door to be unlocked by the combination of his friends’ wands and thumb-prints. 

Ginny Weasley arrived just after them in muddied Harpies robes. “What’s happening?” 

“Beats me,” Ron shrugged, filing into the dining room with the rest of them. 

Those already in attendance included Minister Shacklebolt, Hermione, Harry, Arabella Figg, Andromeda Tonks and Teddy Lupin, Sybil Trelawney, Minerva McGonagall, a beautiful blonde Bulgarian witch, Charlie and the rest of the Weasleys. 

“Thank you all for coming on such short notice,” Shacklebolt called the meeting to order without any preamble.

As if on cue, a soft cry came from Charlie’s knapsack and he shrugged it gently off his shoulder and laid it on the table. 

“A baby!” Mrs. Weasley awed, wiggling her fingers at the child, who gurgled happily at the attention. 

“A girl,” smiled Charlie. 

“Who is the offspring of Tom Riddle and Bellatrix Lestrange,” Shacklebolt gauged each of the members of the Order of Phoenix whom he’d chosen to invite.

Mrs. Weasley recoiled her hand slightly. Harry’s jaw unhinged and he automatically snapped it shut hard enough for his teeth to clack together. Hermione looked scandalized and tried to fix her face, but couldn’t quite manage it. Ron and Ginny looked at each other, then at the baby, then clenched and released their fists repeatedly. 

“Professor Trelawney,” the Minister gestured to the bug-eyed woman to his right, “has retrieved a prophecy from the Department of Mysteries. She made it three months prior to the day. Professor?”

Trelawney brought out the glowing glass ball. 

_ Spawn of darkness and broken lives _

_ When this babe of union foul arrives _

_ At the place of father’s final demise _

_ A chain of events will thus unfold: _

_ Attacks, deceit, and demands bold _

_ For blood doth often fit the mold _

_ Secrets will not forever keep _

_ When smoke through cracks doth seep _

_ For broken things know not what they seek _

_ Time will bend and alliances cease _

_ Terror will rise from the deceased _

_ For broken things cannot know peace _

“She must go to the Diggory Orphanage,” Fleur Delacour spoke up first. 

“‘Arrives at the place of father’s final demise.’” Hermione chewed her thumbnail. “Tom Riddle was killed at Hogwarts.”

“So she will be schooled at the orphanage,” said Headmistress McGonagall. “That’s hardly a challenge.”

“And what happens when she ages out?” the Bulgarian witch snapped. “When we no longer have control over her actions? And remember that prophecies aren’t often literal! It could be saying when she turns eleven, she’ll begin to follow in her father’s footsteps, regardless of whether she actually goes to Hogwarts.”

“What are you saying, Ms. Jonavych?” asked Mrs. Weasley.

“I say…” the blonde looked around the table, then at Charlie. Resolutely, she turned away and stared at some point over all their heads. “I say we treat her as her father treated one of our own.” Jonavych’s ice blue eyes landed on Harry’s scar. “She poses a great threat to us. The only sure way to make sure she never fulfills this prophecy in any way… is to kill her now.”

“ _ What _ did we spend the better part of our lives  _ fighting _ for?” Harry shot up from his seat angrily. “So that we could turn around and be  _ just _ as  _ cruel _ and  _ heartless _ as our  _ enemies _ ?”

“Don’t you  _ dare _ use Harry to justify this - this -  _ murder _ !” Hermione stood up as well, fuming. 

Andromeda Tonks stood and summoned the knapsack to herself, away from the International operatives at the other end of the table. “I will raise her myself! She will know nothing but love. Don’t forget, prophecies are warnings too! ‘Spawn of darkness and  _ broken _ lives,’ ‘ _ broken _ things know  _ not _ what they seek,’ ‘ _ broken _ things  _ cannot _ know  _ peace _ !’ She will be made  _ whole _ by love, I can  _ guarantee _ it!” 

“But ‘blood doth often fit the mold.’” Ron muttered through gritted teeth.

“Dromeda,” Harry lowered his voice, “I… I’m not going to lie. I… I’m not entirely comfortable with this child being raised with Teddy -”

“So this is your  _ hero _ ? Your  _ Chosen One _ ?” Jonavych scoffed, “A  _ hypocrite _ ?”

Ron bolted out of his seat and pushed past Charlie to get to her. “You  _ watch _ your mouth -”

Ginny and Bill leapt up to yank him back. Ginny looked back to give the Bulgarian witch the stink-eye. 

“I’ll take her,” Arabella Figg stood slowly so the cats on her lap and across her shoulders had time to hop off. “I’ll raise her well and protect her. She will grow up in the Muggle way as much as possible. It will keep her humble. Pride can be as dangerous as an absence of affection.” 

Minister Shacklebolt stood and everyone sat back down immediately. “Then it is settled. Everyone knows how to get in touch with everyone else in case there are any new developments. Thank you, Mrs. Figg. You will keep me apprised, of course?”

“Of  _ course _ ,” she seemed mildly insulted at having had to be asked. But then she was cooing at the child and introducing her to her two cats. “Oh, what’s the babe’s name, Charlie?” 

“Um…” Charlie cleared his throat, “Rodolphus Lestrange says it’s Delphini.”

“I will call her Delphi for short,” Mrs. Figg scooped her up and hobbled out of the room. 

Kreacher helped her into her coat and out the door.

“I best be getting back as well,” Minister Shacklebolt left with Hermione, Harry, and Ron for the Ministry.

McGonagall and Trelawney went back to Hogwarts while most of the Weasleys departed for the Burrow and Shell Cottage in highly uncharacteristic silence. 

“Miroslava,” Charlie stared at the woman’s shoes as he addressed her. 

“Charlie,” she stared at his shoes as well. 

“What you suggested back there…” he looked at her and she looked at him and she came to know everything he wanted to say to her and more. 

“I understand,” said Miroslava, blinking rapidly as the shame of what she had proposed overcame her for a moment. But she was in the business of making difficult decisions and she understood that this particular one was likely going to be revisited and re-evaluated again and again throughout the child’s life. She might not be  _ right _ , morally speaking, but she’s saved lives and that was just what her job required of her sometimes. “I knew how you would feel about it before I said it because I know you very well. You cannot read my mind, much less share what I have experienced in the same way. So I understand.”

The beautiful Bulgarian witch took a deep breath and left him. 

“ _ Expecto Patronum _ ,” Charlie conjured a half-hearted silver Norwegian Ridgeback. “Hullo, family. I’m off to Romania again. Love you all always.” 

He stepped into the fireplace and if his eyes appeared tearful when he arrived at the Romanian Embassy, he told himself it was solely due to the flurry of soot and ash that had travelled with him. 

*****

The grassy grounds of Hogwarts beside the Black Lake were quiet despite being full to capacity with those who’d been fortunate enough to live through both Wizarding Wars. It was the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. 

Lee Jordan stepped up to the podium after Pavarti Patil had finished her speech. Dean Thomas had gone before her, and before him was Seamus Finnigan. Headmistress McGonagall had owled Harry Potter first, of course, but he had politely refused. 

Instead, the green-eyed boy with jet-black hair that had grown long enough to hide most of the scar on his forehead sat at the top of the Astronomy Tower. He sipped a Firewhiskey and passed the bottle to Hermione, who took a long swig before passing it to Ron, who took two chugs and passed it to Ginny. 

“Can’t,” she sighed forlornly, passing the bottle back to Harry. “Training diet.” 

Just then, Bill’s winged horse patronus galloped up the tower stairs to them. “ _ Fleur’s in labour _ !  _ Come quick _ !”

They grabbed their brooms and sped out of range of Hogwarts’ wards so they could apparate to Shell Cottage. 

Arriving ahead of them were Hannah Abbott, Gabrielle Delacour, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, who had been down by the lake at the memorial service with Bill and Fleur. 

“How are we doing?” Hannah led the way up to the bedroom and checked Fleur’s dilation. 

“ _ Not good _ !  _ Not good _ !” Fleur screamed at a pitch high and strong enough to shatter the windows had Bill not just reinforced them after they broke once already. 

“Drink this,” Hannah gave her a Draught of Peace, “Now, you’re water’s already broken, so you’re almost there -”

“ _ Oh, I better be _ !  _ This is exc-argh! Excruciating _ !”

“Alright, everyone who’s not giving birth and is not the husband, please leave,” Hannah checked the dilation again.

Mrs. Weasley ushered everyone out, but took her time leaving herself. 

“Mum,” Bill warned, gripping Fleur’s hand tightly as she groaned in pain. 

“I’m leaving, I’m leaving,” Mrs. Weasley promised, shutting the door quietly behind her. 

“Now push!” Hannah instructed, throwing a silencing charm around the room. “Push, Mrs. Weasley!” 

“ _ I’m pushing _ !” Fleur yelled out of frustration more than pain. 

“And again!”

“ _ Nngh _ !”

“Again!”

“You’re doing great, love,” Bill encouraged. 

“ _ We’re not having another child in a long time, do you hear me, William Weasley _ ?” Fleur bit back and pushed. 

“Once more!” Hannah smiled excitedly. “I can see the head!”

“ _ Oh, I suppose this is very fun for you, isn’t it _ ?” Fleur snapped and gave another mighty push. 

A baby cried out. 

“Shut the window!” Hannah threw a blanket over the baby. “It’s too bright!”

Bill waved his wand at the shutters and the room dimmed. 

“There we go,” Hannah  _ Scourgified _ the baby. A proper bath would have to wait. The parents wanted to meet their daughter. 

“Oh, oh, darling…” Fleur laughed and cried and cradled the small bundle.

“It’s a girl!” Bill kissed his wife, hugged Hannah, and barrelled out the door. He almost ran into his mother, who was pacing up and down the hall. 

“Ron, Gabrielle,” Bill beckoned them inside first. “You’re officially godparents.” 

“Elle est si petite! Elle est magnifique!” Gabrielle cooed and congratulated her sister. 

“Wha-what she said,” Ron brushed his fingers by the corners of his crinkling eyes. 

Bill ushered his mother inside next and she bawled for a good minute before asking, “What’s her name?” 

  
Fleur looked at Bill, who smiled adoringly and nodded to her. “She is  _ Victoire _ .” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think in the comments or on Tumblr [ @littlejeanniebean ](https://littlejeanniebean.tumblr.com/) :) I always love hearing from you!! This is definitely one of my more ambitious fics, so I heartily appreciate all your constructive feedback, encouragement, and kudos ;) 
> 
> Stay safe and take care always xx


	9. Old Wounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously: Ginny trains in Quidditch bootcamp, Neville and the Weasleys help the war veterans find work and healthcare, the Golden Trio save Rolf and Luna from wild Pukwudgies, Delphini is found by Charlie in Bulgaria and Mrs. Figg cares for her despite the ominous prophecy about her, Victoire is born

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BIG THANK YOU to my critique partner, elanev91, you are a first-rate writer and editor and it is my pleasure to know you and be able to count you as a friend ❤

Hermione left the flat in Ottery St. Catchpole earlier than usual. Ron was still asleep, but she thought she might as well cook for both of them anyway. She’d put a warming spell on his eggs and wrote a note that said, ‘eat hearty, stay safe xx.’ 

The Lovegood House wasn’t far from the village, so she walked instead of apparating. Hermione found it really helpful to go on walks. Luna had been the one to suggest it and knew a lot of good trails in the area. Being the Muggleborn between them, Hermione was surprised she hadn’t thought of it herself. 

A grey owl swooped low overhead to get her attention. 

“Hello, Errol.” She extended her arm in a make-shift perch. “You look like you’ve just been to the post office - what’ve you got there?”

_Dear Ms. Granger,_

_Please find the enclosed certificate celebrating your hundred-hour volunteer milestone! It’s been a pleasure to work with you on the Lee case._

_Sincerely,_

_Penelope Clearwater_

_Magister at Law_

_The People’s Defense_

“Thanks, Errol. On home with you. I’m afraid I haven’t got any treats on me.” Hermione threw her extended arm up into the air to give him a boost. 

The certificate only solidified her plans and she knew she would be leaving the Society for the Protection and Promotion of the Rights and Welfare of Magical Creatures, or Sparrow, in good hands. 

A black, cylindrical structure rose out of the grassy meadow - the Lovegood House. Hermione let herself in through the broken down gate and followed the zig-zag path lined with curious plants Neville would’ve loved, especially the Dirigible Plums.

“Hello, Hermione!” Luna was on the second floor, waving out the window. “Come in! I’ll put the kettle on!”

Hermione gave the front door a small push and it popped open with a funny, _sloo-plop_ sort of sound. 

“Father’s out conducting interviews for the Quibbler,” said Luna, bringing the kettle to a quick boil with a heating spell. “So we can talk alone.”

“Uh, great.” Hermione would never not be unsettled by the fact that Luna always seemed to know her intentions before she spoke them. As far as she could tell, her friend was not a Legilimens, so it was a wonder how she did it. “Um, I guess I’ll get right to the point: You’ve been a very active member of Sparrow and I was wondering if you’d be interested in the position of Human Liaison.”

“ _Your_ position?” Luna blinked owlishly at her, pouring the tea without looking. The cup did not overflow, though. 

“Yea-thank you,” Hermione received the cup from her. “I need more time to study for my Magister’s exam next year. I have a list of tasks that will still need to be completed if I step down officially two weeks from now. Most of it has to do with the first annual International Magical Creatures Convention, which Firenze and Retly can help you with.”

“If you’re definitely decided, I’ll do it. Rolf’s been… er, well he hasn’t written since we sent off our report on the Pukwudgies, so,” Luna shrugged, sipping her tea, “I’m available.” 

Hermione tilted her head slightly, “He fancies you, you know that, right?” 

“I’ve observed enough mating dances to know that he most certainly does not,” Luna’s floaty voice wavered and the light in her wide blue eyes dimmed. 

“Er…” Hermione touched her ear, something she did when she was uncomfortable, or so Ron said. “Not all humans… attract… mates… the same way. They might as well be completely different species with completely different... mating dances. Boys especially. He fancies you, but he’s too shy to say so. So he just stares at you until you marry him.”

“He…” Luna sat a bit straighter, “He stares at me?” 

“With zero shame,” Hermione nodded, setting down her tea. “Thank you so much for stepping up, Luna. It means the world to me that someone as passionate and kind as you is taking over.”

“Of course, Hermione. And thank you, for telling me about Rolf.” 

Hermione gave her a quick but warm hug. “Right, I’d better not be late. Podmore seems to tolerate me, but only just.” 

Luna stood back so she could apparate away. 

*****

“Blaise, I need to speak to you.” Draco had taken to walking around the Italian beachfront property with a shade perpetually conjured over his head. 

“Those Muggle killing curse shields finished?” Blaise didn’t look up.

“No.”

“Then what’s there to talk about?” Zabini rolled his eyes at him insolently. “Come on, chop-chop, Draco. Marcetta will be here any minute.”

Draco didn’t move. 

Zabini kept talking. “Thank Merlin that Obliviator took out a larger chunk of his memory to be safe. Now he’s only suspicious of me on emotion, but he can’t place why. _Let’s not give him a concrete reason, eh_?” 

“We could get a police contract instead,” Draco crossed his arms. “Do you have any idea how much money Muggle governments pay for weapons and protection?” He dropped an American newspaper on the desk. “Well, I did the research, it’s _billions_.” 

“Yeah, well, I did the _math_ and we’d be outfitting an entire battalion. A billion dollars divided by a billion shields is a dollar per shield. We’re making over a hundred times better.” 

Draco flung a wordless dark magic spell at the sheet-metal shield Zabini was reinforcing with some basic spellwork. The metal rusted over and crumbled into dust. 

“Hey, what the _fuck_ , man?” Zabini stood, wand in hand. 

“I’m looking out for you, _man_ ,” Draco jeered and raised his wand at Zabini’s chin. He’d always had a funny way of showing he cared. 

“Don’t _fucking_ test me,” his friend seethed, pointing his wand at Draco’s nether regions. “You know you owe me, don’t you? For getting you this job? Why can’t you just be a grateful little lackey and do as you’re _told_?”

Draco pressed his wand into Zabini’s neck, “Say that again, you uncultured, unprincipled -”

“You wanna talk about principles, _Malfoy_?”

The blond boy winced inwardly, but kept up an impassive face. “I want to talk about _not_ dying _after_ the bloody _war’s_ over because my _idiot_ business partner got _mixed_ up with a Muggle _mob_!”

Zabini shoved him backwards and strode away only to come back around. “May I remind you who’s _name_ we’re operating under _now_?” 

Draco advanced, brandishing his wand. “May I remind _you_ whose Charms work got you your business back in the _first_ place after you _royally_ screwed all your old clients over?” 

“ _Fuck you, Malfoy_ !” Zabini gave him the rude finger. “ _You_ need me. No one else will have you. So _you_ do as _I_ say.”

Draco pointed at the front door. “Oh, would you look at that!” 

“Did you _hear_ a word I said?” Zabini looked ready to hex him where he stood the way his wand hand was twitching. 

“Hmm, I wonder where this leads?” Draco flung the door open and at once, Zabini schooled the anger out of his face. “Yeah, that’s right. I’ll walk, other prospects or none, but at least I’ll have my life. Good luck making a hundred of these shields yourself.” 

Draco spun around to walk out the door, only to be faced with Mr. Marcetta and five other Italians.

“Lover’s quarrel?” Marcetta smiled silkily, tipping his white fedora at them. 

“I was just leaving,” Draco attempted to get past, but one of his thugs grabbed him, divested him of his wand, and flung him back into the foyer. 

“What’s this?” Marcetta received the wand from his thug. “Is this what you Britons call ‘carrying?’”

The others laughed, including Zabini, although his posture remained tense. Marcetta twirled Draco’s wand like a baton and angry red sparks shot out the end, breaking a lamp and bursting a couch cushion. One also knocked the white fedora off Marcetta’s head.

“ _Agh_ !” Marcetta dropped the wand. “What the _fuck_ is that thing?” 

“ _Stupefy_!” Zabini fired from the hip and missed Marcetta, only knocking out his right-hand man. “Shit.”

“What the _fuck_ , Zabini?” Draco picked up his wand and held it up at the Muggles, who were going for their own deadly weapons. 

“I panicked, alright? Ju-just obliviate them!”

Draco sighed and focused, “ _Obli_ -”

_Bang_!

Marcetta drew and shot from the hip, but as close as he was standing to Draco, it was impossible to miss. 

“ _Protego_!” Zabini jumped forward and shielded them both from the hail of Muggle killing curses.

Before they could rebound on the mob, Draco summoned one of the finished sheet-metal shields to come between them. Then he aimed a spell at the fireplace. “ _Voca Harry Potter_!” 

Small, green flames soared out of the chimney. 

“What the _fuck_ was that for?” Zabini growled. 

“He’s the only one stupid enough to let us off the hook for this.” He leveled his wand at Marcetta. “ _Stupefy_!”

The mobster went down and his men backed out the door, holding the shield close, puzzling over why the man they had tried to kill had helped them. 

The floo dinged behind the wizards and Harry Potter tumbled out with a caramel-skinned, bushy-haired witch. 

“Great, he’s brought Granger,” Zabini rolled his eyes. “ _Petrificus Totalus_!”

“Are they _Muggles_ ?” Hermione summoned their guns out of their hands. “ _Incarcerous_! It’s Regina’s day off. I’ll have to call -”

“You can do it, can’t you?” suggested Harry.

“Oh,” Hermione frowned, her insides churning, but she was determined not to let it show. “Yes, I suppose.” She took a deep breath and approached the bound criminals. 

“Malfoy, Zabini,” Harry nodded. 

“Potter,” they said in unison. 

Draco touched his wand to his temple. “You’ve got a flask?” 

Harry always carried a few in his cloak pockets since he started with the Committee. He handed a clear, tear-drop-shaped one to the blond wizard. 

Draco dropped a memory into the flask and shut it. “That’ll tell you everything you need to know.” 

“ _Everything_?” Zabini eyed him critically. 

“Oh, yeah, as I was saying,” Draco turned to his friend and proffered his hand. “I quit.” 

“Fuck you,” Zabini stepped into the floo and disappeared in a flash of green fire. 

Draco rolled his eyes. “Permission to return to England, Potter?”

Having pocketed the flask, Harry was checking the magical residue around the beach house. By the amount of trace material left, it would seem Zabini’s dragon heartstring wand fired the first shot and Draco protected the Muggles again. 

Just then, the doorbell rang.

Hermione put down the Muggle telephone, having called the police and went to the door. She tiptoed to see through the peephole. “Shit, it’s Lovetti.” 

“Christi?” Harry blinked in surprise. 

“No, Mia somehow left Hogwarts and travelled to Italy on her own - _Yes_ , Christi! Malfoy, get out of here!”

“Gladly.” He stepped into the fireplace. “ _Malfoy Manor_!” Then he was gone. 

Hermione opened the door and stepped out quickly, but not before the intrepid investigator caught sight of the men bound hand and foot in the foyer.

“Ms. Lovetti.” The witch smiled tightly. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“I heard gunshots.” Lovetti frowned, concerned. “Who are those men inside?” 

“Mob.” Hermione set her jaw in an imitation of Ron’s auror-face, which seemed to work well for him. “We had a hostage situation with two British nationals. That’s all I’m at liberty to say. Don’t worry, we have it under control. May I ask what brings you all the way to Italy?” 

“Vacation. Our family owns the house just up the trail there,” she pointed vaguely in the uphill direction. 

“Right,” Hermione huffed skeptically. 

“It’s the truth. If you stick around until school’s out, you may see Mia running about.” Lovetti leaned in. “I saw lights flashing inside too, by the way.”

“Yes, some lamps and such were broken.”

“They were green and red lights.”

“Did you know that white light, when shone into a prism, refracts into many different colors, including -”

“Please, don’t patronize me.” 

“I’m sorry.” Hermione looked an appropriate combination of apologetic and harried. “I’m very busy. I’ve just diffused a very high-stress situation on behalf of Her Majesty and I would like to be on my way home as soon as possible.”

“I’m sorry. I won’t keep you.” Lovetti backed away.

“And if I or any of my colleagues see you snooping around this property, we’ll have you arrested for trespassing and questioned for collusion with enemies of the Crown.” 

Lovetti saluted. “Understood.”

*****

“Distress signal at Alley Crossroads,” Ron pointed out to Angelina, who was keeping watch in the other direction while they were on another evening patrol. 

They apparated to the turn-off point of Diagon Alley, under the awning of a closed apothecary.

A cloaked woman was hunched over on the ground, seeming to be in distress. Ron moved to approach her, but Angelina held him back. 

“Aurors Angelina Johnson and Ronald Weasley,” she said. “Identify yourself.”

“Daphne Greengrass,” the witch lifted her head so they could see her. “Someone robbed me. I’m unarmed.” 

Angelina searched her just the same. 

“Did you see who it was?” asked Ron.

“No. They came from behind.” 

“This way?” Ron pointed down Knockturn Alley.

She nodded. 

“Who did you visit?” 

“The apothecary.”

“There’s one right here,” Angelina jabbed her thumb behind them. 

“The one in Knockturn has a better discount.” Daphne narrowed her eyes. “Do you always question the victims so skeptically?”

“If you give us the address of your apothecary, we’ll question them,” said Ron. 

“That won’t be necessary. It wasn’t him.”

“How can you know if you didn’t see who robbed you?” Angelina raised an eyebrow.

“Because Vance wouldn’t _dare_.” Daphne lifted her nose haughtily.

Ron cast a diagnostic spell, but because it was a public space with anti-Muggle wards on every building, it was difficult to tease out anything more subtle than a casted spell, which the robber evidently hadn’t needed to use.

“Alright,” he said, “Tell us everything that happened since you left your house.”

“What? Since this morning?” Daphne made a face. “You’re not very bright for a Weasley. Shame. Brains and brawn are all you’re left with when you take away honour and status.”

“We can go to the Ministry, get you a cuppa if you want.” Ron tried to keep civil.

“I went to visit my sister at Hogwarts. Stayed until about ten. Then I got lunch at the Three Broomsticks. Spent some time at Honeydukes in Hogsmeade. Then I went to visit Pansy -”

“Parkinson?” Ron clarified. 

“Do you know another one?” she scoffed.

“The question is whether _you_ do," said Angelina.

Daphne rolled her eyes, “Yes, Parkinson -”

“In the holding cells at the Ministry?” Angelina interrupted her, making a mental note to check the records.

“Where else would she be?” Daphne sneered.

“Just trying to make sure we have all the details." Ron pressed his lips together in a tight sort of smile. "Then where did you go?”

“By that time it was about two in the afternoon. I met Barnaby Lee to go over his finances on behalf of my father's firm - we had an appointment. Then after dinner, at about half-past seven, I came here, to this apothecary - you can ask the shopkeeper - but their prices are ridiculous and I told them so. So I went to Vance’s place.” 

"Was anyone else there?" asked Ron. "Leave with you or just after?" 

"Not that I noticed."

"Alright," Ron nodded. "If you'd like to go home now, you may. We'll be in touch if we have any leads or follow-up questions."

Daphne apparated away with a sharp _pop!_

“I’ll talk to Vance, you start the canvas?” Angelina proposed. 

Ron nodded and they parted ways. 

*****

In an otherwise undisturbed suburbia at midday, the lilac bush outside the Granger’s house quivered with the displaced air of an apparition. Ron and Hermione walked up the little paved path to the front door. 

“Would you care to do the honours?” Hermione pointed at a plastic button on the wall. 

Ron pressed it and a stream of ding-dong sounds came from inside the house. 

“Let go, let go!” Hermione pulled his hand away with a laugh. 

Her mother answered the door and pulled her in for a hug. “Oh, my favourite daughter!” 

“I’m your _only_ daughter,” she chuckled. “How are you, Mum?” 

“Very well! Come in, come in!” Dr. Granger looked the tall ginger lad head to foot. “And you must be Ron!”

“Hello, Dr. Granger. This is for you.” He handed her a bottle of Muggle wine Hermione had picked out. “Pleased to meet you.” 

“Thank you, and likewise!” She positively beamed at his politeness. 

“Hermione!” Her father emerged from the study and pulled her into a side-hug. He extended his hand to Ron. “Mr. Weasel, how do you do?”

“Weasley, sir, er, the name’s Weasley.” Ron shook his hand. “S’alright. Common mistake.”  
  


A static silence fell over them. 

“Well, let’s go into the dining room, shall we?” Her mother ushered them into the second room off the entrance hall. 

“So what do you do for a living, Mr. Weasley?” 

“Oh, call me Ron, please. I’m a... policeman.” He glanced at Hermione, who nodded slightly, meaning he’d said it right. 

“Rather dangerous, innit?” Dr. Granger pulled out a chair for his daughter beside him. 

“Dad,” Hermione touched his arm lightly, “they’re highly trained and capable.” 

“I think what your father means, Hermione,” her mother brought bean sprouts and roasted ham to the table, “is that you’ve both already survived a… a war…” she sat down stiffly, “surely a… tamer job is worth considering?” 

“I don’t presume to tell my boyfriend how to run his life, Mum,” Hermione said in a warning tone. Then she turned to said boyfriend, who was sitting across from her at the table. “Try some of Mum’s sweet potatoes, Ron. They’re amazing.” 

“Thank you,” Ron received the bowl from her awkwardly. “I think, for me anyways, it’s all about the trade-off. If I can protect people, if I can protect _Hermione_ ,” he smiled, touching his ankles to hers under the table, “then I’m going to do it.”

The Grangers traded looks in the unspoken dialogue couples tended to develop over the years. 

“Good lad,” said Hermione’s father, finally. “So, what do you think of the missus’ potatoes?”

Ron remembered to swallow before speaking. “Amazing barely does it justice.”

“Oh, now you’re buttering us up,” Hermione’s mother teased. “Have some more.” 

Just as she picked up the bowl, Angelina’s silver hawk patronus phased through the kitchen window. “ _Leaky Cauldron Room 3. Code Black._ ”

The bowl slipped from Dr. Granger’s hand, but a quick and silent _Wingardium Leviosa_ from Hermione saved it from smashing against the floor. 

Ron stood, muttering, “Sorry, I’m really sorry, but I have to -”

“What’s Code Black?” asked Hermione, standing as well, having placed the bowl of potatoes back on the table. 

Ron shook his head at her almost imperceptibly. “I’ll see you at home, alright?”

She frowned, but nodded, looking between her pale-faced parents who had never seen a corporeal patronus before. 

“Thank you so much for having me,” Ron said to his girlfriend’s parents. “I’m sorry I can’t stay.”

“Let me show you out.” The male Dr. Granger surprised everyone by standing and walking Ron to the door. A myriad of expressions came over his face before he settled on one of respectful resignation. “Godspeed, Mr. Weasley.” 

“Thank you, sir,” he shook his hand and once the door closed behind him, he stepped behind the lilac bush and apparated away with a gentle _pop!_

Ron materialized at the Leaky Cauldron’s back door and let himself into the dim space. He took the stairs two at a time to Room 3, where Hannah was performing the post-mortem examination. 

“Who?” he asked Angelina immediately. 

“Esteban Burbage,” she replied somberly, “Muggle half-brother of Charity Burbage.” 

“The Muggle-Studies professor?” Ron peered over Hannah’s shoulder.

“Yeah. Deceased as of -”

“I remember.” Ron frowned, recalling what would have been the start of his seventh year at Hogwarts. “Is that a time-turner in his hand?”

“Yeah, but it’s broken. Won’t turn smoothly, see?” she handled it carefully to show him. 

“That explains why it looks like he’s been splinched. Was he going or coming?”

“I’m not familiar with time-turner magic, so I’ve called an Unspeakable to investigate.”

Ron began to wish he had brought Hermione with him, but it wasn’t her department and her parents might be upset if they learned she was so much as near harm’s way because of him. “Was a time-turner ever issued to Charity? Might want to check the Order records too?” 

Angelina shook her head. “Katie checked the Order’s records and Padma’s gone back to the Ministry. He didn’t get it through Charity.”

“Have you talked to Neville? Or Old Tom?”

“I figured you’d better do it.” Angelina looked at the victim’s lifeless face. “I’ll see about any Muggle next of kin.”

“Alrigh--oh, have any witnesses come forward for the Greengrass case? I’m supposed to give her an update in person this afternoon.”

“No, sorry. In _person_? Just to tell her we don’t have anything? That’s not really standard protocol, is it?”

Ron shrugged, “She sent a howler to my desk this morning. Seemed more distraught than anything else.”

“Do you want me to com-”

“No,” Ron said quickly, remembering how the two had not exactly gotten along that night. “I mean -”

“Yeah, you’d better do it,” Angelina consented, stroking her long ponytail sheepishly. 

Hannah stood from where she’d been kneeling beside the hotel room bed. “Attempting to use a broken time-turner severed his spinal cord and… essentially _fried_ all his nerve endings. I can’t tell you if he’d actually been somewhere in time, but I can wait for the Unspeakable for you and let you know what they find.”

“Thanks, Hannah,” Ron left the room and shut his eyes tight. 

He hadn’t taken Muggle Studies himself, but Hermione had been rather fond of Charity Burbage, even though she found the class rather redundant to everything she already knew about the Muggle world. They’d never found the body to return to the family and now her half-brother was dead. Collecting himself, he went downstairs to speak to Neville and Old Tom. 

“He did come in through the Muggle side, but he paid me in sickles and knuts,” said Old Tom in a thick cockney accent. “Never seen him before though.”

“I wasn’t here when he checked in last night,” Neville worried his bottom lip between his teeth, “but I’ve never seen him around before either.”

“Did he meet anyone while he was here?” asked Ron.

Both men shook their heads. 

“Did anyone check-in or stop by around the same time?” 

“A lot of people did,” Old Tom sighed. “Evenings are busy around here.”

“Right,” Ron tried to think of another way to narrow the search. “Anyone you’ve never seen before either? Or haven’t seen in a while?”

“Nott!” Old Tom snapped his fingers. “Mostly we get half-bloods or those who like to go Muggle sight-seeing, but I know he was a Nott, for sure and certain! Very wiry. Looks a bit like a rabbit stretched until his ears popped off!” 

“That sounds about right,” Ron chuckled, “Did you see him head upstairs or meet with Burbage?”

“Saw him head upstairs. He could’ve just been shagging the Bulgarian, mind.”

“The Bulgarian?” 

“Jonavych,” said Neville, “from the meeting at Grimmauld.”

“Is she in now?” asked Ron.

“Room 4. Hardly ever leaves.” Neville summoned the master key from the backroom. “I can show you up if you like.”

“Thanks, mate,” Ron followed him back upstairs. The door to Room 3 was shut, but he could hear Hannah speaking in hushed tones, so she must be with the Unspeakable agent. 

Neville slipped the key into the lock of Jonavych’s room and turned it quickly. At the same time, Ron pushed open the door and entered, wand first. “Auror Ron Weas-”

“ _Expelliarmus_!” Jonavych was too quick for him and snatched his wand out of mid-air.

“ _Expelliarmus_!” Neville echoed, sending her wand flying towards Ron, who caught it. 

“ _Incarcerous_!” she fired with Ron’s wand. 

“ _Flippendo_ !” Ron knocked her back into the chair and bound her to it. He took his wand back. “What in _Merlin’s_ name was that for? I thought we were on the same side!”

“Be quiet!” she hissed, “You’re jeopardizing my operation!”

“What operation?” Ron demanded. 

“Release me first.”

Ron banished the ropes. 

“My wand, please?” she held out her hand. 

“What. Operation?” he asked again as Neville crossed his arms intimidatingly by the door, blocking her exit. 

The blonde witch lifted her chin, “I’m not at liberty to say.”

“A man was killed last night,” he pressed. “What do you know about it?”

Jonavych remained silent.

“Look, we can do this here or we can take you in and have you prosecuted as a spy and I’d imagine your government would leave you out to dry.”

She fixed him with a cold, blue gaze. “I’m not afraid of Azkaban.”

“But you are afraid of _something_.” Ron knew how to posture, same as she did. “And the dementors will make sure you live with that fear. Everyday. For the rest of your life.”

“I work to keep the wizarding world free, Auror Weasley, _same as you_.” She stood and brushed past them to hold open the door. “Now, I believe your Healer is finished with the Unspeakable and has some _news for you_. And…” she licked her soft pink lips, “I wouldn’t be so certain that _everyone_ _actively avoids_ spending time in Azkaban.”

Ron beckoned Neville out with him and Jonavych shut the door tightly behind them. 

“You’re just going to let her go?” Neville frowned.

“She’s leading us to answers,” Ron was sure he hadn’t mistaken the significance in her tone. “Anyway, nothing they do to her in Azkaban or at the Ministry will get her to talk. Not with the training they give you at Durmstrang. Our best bet is to be aware that she’s in play and keep an eye out for her.” 

Hannah met them in the hall. “The Unspeakable just left with the broken time-turner.” 

“Wait, we need that for evide-”

Hannah held up her hand. “He said it was broken to begin with. Poor manufacturing. An amateur.”

“Someone’s making their own time-turners?” Neville swallowed nervously.

“But that means Burbage didn’t travel anywhere, right?” asked Ron.

“Right,” Hannah nodded.

Ron exhaled heavily and drew a hand over his face. “Will you be taking Burbage to the morgue at Mungo’s, then?”

“Angelina sent me a patronus. She found the hospital the family frequented in London, but there’s no next of kin. They’ll see him buried in the family plot. Did you need something else from the body while I have him?” 

“Since the time-turner’s what killed him I technically can’t keep the case open, even though we don’t know how he got his hands on them. Did the Unspeakable claim the case for the Department of Mysteries?” 

“Yes, but he also said he wouldn’t be opposed to you continuing to work on it during your off-hours, provided you file your reports directly with their department, not the aurors’.”

“Well, that’s mighty gracious of him,” Ron rolled his eyes. Unspeakables might not have a life outside of work, but he most certainly did. “Do either of you have the time?”

Hannah glanced down at her wizarding watch, composed of star and sun charts etched into a little glass face. “Quarter to two.” 

“Shit, I’m late. Cheers, guys.” He apparated to the Greengrass estate and ran across the grounds, secured by anti-apparition wards. 

“About time, Weasley,” Daphne Greengrass answered the door, pulling him inside. “Fifteen minutes late, have you ever heard of such a thing…”

He followed her into the sitting room, gaudily decorated with more tassels than anyone ought to have in one place. Reclined in a lounger, there was a lanky, dark-haired boy with buck-teeth and a sallow complexion. 

Ron nodded in his direction. “Theodore Nott, innit?”

“Weasley,” he tilted a tumbler of golden drink in greeting. 

“Well? What’ve you got?” Daphne crossed her arms. 

“I presume you would prefer some privacy to discuss a personal case, Ms. Greengrass?” Ron side-eyed Nott warily. 

“He’s a concerned family friend, Weasley,” she huffed impatiently. “Now, who’s been sticking people up in Knockturn?”

Ron pursed his lips and paced towards the bookshelf as he considered her curious choice of wording, as well as Nott’s unexpected presence. 

“Ah, The Numerology of _Time_ .” The auror picked up the book and flipped to the chapter on the proof that time _turns_ as opposed to moving linearly. He held it up to them, watching as Nott clenched his drink until his knuckles turned white. “Fascinating stuff.” 

Daphne seemed to sense Nott’s discomfort as well, because she said immediately, “If you have nothing to say, I must ask you to leave. I don’t appreciate it when my guests make thinly veiled threats at each other.” 

“Would you prefer them out in the open, perhaps?” Ron turned to her. “Who else was robbed in Knockturn Alley, Ms. Greengrass? If we have their names and the details of their cases, we may be able to suss out a pattern.” 

Daphne and Nott shared a look. 

“I think you’ve outstayed your invitation, Weasley,” Nott finished his drink and the charmed glass refilled itself. 

Ron did an exaggerated bow to mock them and apparated to the Island of Azkaban. The stormy winds and salty sea spray whipped and pulled at his Muggle clothes, soaking him through in a matter of seconds and leaving his teeth chattering as he approached the Unspeakable on guard duty. 

“Any visitors by the name of Theodore Nott?” Ron yelled over the natural commotion, flashing his auror’s badge. He looked up at the dementors flying high overhead and shivered. 

The Unspeakable examined his wand. “Please step into the pool here!”

There was indeed a small puddle just behind him. Ron hesitated, looking at the chainmail over the guard’s face, which garbled their voice beyond recognition. 

“Don’t worry, it’s shallow! We just need to make sure you are who you look like, Weasley!”

Ron stepped into the pool, which came up to his ankles. The water swirled around him before dropping back down at his feet. 

“You can step out!” 

“Has Theodore Nott visited anyone here?” Ron asked again once back on dry land. 

The Unspeakable muttered an incantation and appeared to be reading through an invisible manuscript. “Lucius Malfoy!” 

“I need to speak to him!” Ron blinking the salt out of his eyes. 

The guard touched his wand to Ron’s and a wisp of gray smoke rose into the air before disappearing. “You’ll have to leave your wand with me. Take the stairs all the way up, first cell on your right!”

Ron swallowed. All the way up meant the closest one could possibly be to the dementors. He decided to ascend quickly and soon found himself facing a darkened cell, save for a damp and tangled mass of platinum blond hair. 

“Malfoy,” he got his attention by knocking on one of the bars. “Theodore Nott paid you a visit. What did he say?”

The pale, glassy-eyed man mustered the energy to sneer at him. “One of the privileges of a life sentence: private visits.” 

“What did _you_ say to him? You might already have a life sentence, but we could still give you a dementor’s kiss.” 

Lucius chuckled mirthlessly. “You would be doing me a _favour_ , you blood _traitors_ and your _mudblood_ friends. The Dark Lord may be gone forever, but the _sentiment_ with which he and his loyal followers did their work is still and _always_ will be _very_ much _alive_.” 

“Wow, always so original,” Ron blanched and rolled his eyes. “Can’t believe I came all the way up here for this _trash_.”

“Mind who you’re speaking to, _Weasley_.” He tittered up to the bars, his foul stench following him. “Or you may find yourself a _most_ _coveted_ target.”

“Is that a threat, _Malfoy_ ?” _Please do elaborate_ , thought Ron. 

“A fact,” he slunk back into the shadows of his cell. 

Ron went back down quickly after that. He could get a Veritaserum warrant if he could prove Nott was up to something because he was the link to Malfoy. Ron still couldn’t fathom why Nott might be willing to provide a Muggle with a time-turner unless he knew it was broken. 

He collected his wand from the Unspeakable and apparated to Malfoy Manor. He had a few more minutes before his lunch hour was over. The enchanted knocker announced his arrival to the occupants of the manse.

"Weasley," Draco answered the door.

"Malfoy." Ron didn't show him his auror's badge because he wasn't technically on official business as per the Department of Mysteries' instruction. "Visit your father lately?"

"You know I haven't." He responded icily. "What do you want?"

"How about Theodore Nott?" Ron brushed past him, into the dimly lit foyer, "See him lately?"

"Can't say that I have." Draco shoved his hands into his deep cloak pockets. "Now. What. Do. You. Want?"

Ron shrugged as if he couldn't care less and he was simply following up a lead. "Theodore Nott visited your father."

"And you think I'd know something about that?" Draco's lips curled into a scowl, but he looked more like an affronted schoolboy than a contemptuous grown man. "That man ruined my life! I have nothing to do with him."

"And Nott?" 

"Haven't seen him since Hogwarts."

"For your sake, I hope all that is true." Ron showed himself out. "Have a good day, Malfoy."

*****

The professional stadium opened up wide as Ginny zoomed out from under the Harpies’ supporter’s stands. She couldn’t help but look at everything with the wide-eyed gaze and gaping mouth of a newbie -- the bright lights on the tips of everyone’s wands, the WWW fireworks themed to the Harpies and Kestrel colors and mascots, _everything_.

All the Weasleys, except Charlie, who was still in Romania, were there to support her. She waved to them enthusiastically, having gotten them some of the best seats in the house. Draco Malfoy had the private box next to theirs, which was an unforeseen disaster in the making. Luckily, Astoria Greengrass was a Harpies fan, so at least they couldn’t start a fight over supporting different teams. 

Flying higher, Ginny could see a silver stag was running about the perimeter of the stadium and smiled. The Committee had Harry and Hermione working the perimeter with Sports and Rec, so they couldn’t just enjoy the game, but she was glad they were close by. 

“ _Morgana’s hat, it’s Valmai Morgan_!” Astoria shrieked and bounced uncontrollably. She’d called in sick at her father’s firm so that she could go to Ireland with Draco for the match and had been coughing and sneezing until all of four hours before the match, when she convinced Draco that she was well enough for a trip to Ireland for the match. Her boyfriend seriously doubted she had been ill at all, but for all his outward scowling, he was secretly pleased at her vivaciousness tonight. 

Ginny, too, still couldn’t quite believe she was flying with the daughter of the famous Gwendolyn Morgan, but she was far from star-struck. Mostly, she was jealous that Morgan got to skip boot camp because of her lineage. 

“Alright, ladies,” Jones, their captain, pulled them together. “Weasley, let’s see those reflexes -- get your hands on that quaffle and get it to Morgan by the posts to score -- Williams, I’ll keep a bludger on the other seeker at all times, so do me a solid and get that snitch, alright?” 

Ginny had a hard time thinking past the fact that she would do all the hard work and Morgan would get the goal. She wouldn’t have minded it if she was the most junior chaser, but the fact of the matter was, she and Morgan should’ve been on the same level. 

“Let’s go, ladies!” Jones led them into the air. 

Ginny snatched the quaffle right out from under O’Malley’s nose and made a break for it. 

“ _Weasley has the quaffle and isn’t giving it up, no matter what O’Malley thinks_ !” Quidditch Correspondent for the Daily Prophet, Barnaby Lee, was commentating the match. “ _He calls in Riley, who dives for the intercept -- Weasley barrel-rolls neatly out of the way and is joined by Morgan and La Salle for a Hawkshead approach, but mind you, this is former Kestrel keeper O’Hare’s specialty, so they’ll be prepa--oh! And it’s a Bermuda Triangle! Better luck next time, Kestrels... Morgan receives the quaffle and scores_ ! _Takes after her mother, she does_!”

“We’re a team, we’re a team,” Ginny muttered to herself, chasing after Riley, who was zigzagging all over the pitch with O’Malley. “A win for the team is a win for me…” 

“ _Weasley and La Salle flank O’Malley at the last minute, intercepting Riley’s pass_! _Weasley has the quaffle -- and THAT is how you do a_ _proper Wollongong Shimmy, Riley_! _Morgan has the quaffle -- and that’s another ten points to the Harpies_!”

“Good show, Weasley!” Jones batted a bludger away with a sharp _thwack_! 

Ginny would have liked to say that allayed all of her misgivings, but she would’ve been lying because the crowd was chanting for Morgan. 

Seven more goals later, Williams was in pursuit of the snitch when what appeared to be a firecracker was launched directly in her flight path. 

Ginny sped towards her family’s private box. “George, do something!”

“Already on it, get out of my way!” He was looking intently through his omniculars, aiming his wand, then the flame below the rocket was extinguished. 

“Time out!” Jones called down to the referee, who granted it. 

A group of formally robed officials from Sports and Rec assembled on the pitch. 

“It wasn’t anyone from the Kestrel’s team!” said one. 

“ _Arresto momentum_!” George dropped down onto the pitch, holding the offending rocket. “Well, it’s not one of ours! It’s a completely different design. Standard Muggle make if I had to say.”

“You get a penalty shot, Jones, how about it?” asked the referee. 

Ginny stood a little taller, hoping. 

“Morgan!” Jones barked, mounting her broom once more. “You’re up!”

After Morgan's tenth goal, Williams caught the snitch. 

Ginny flew straight off the pitch towards the camp grounds, jealousy and anger and all manner of unpleasant feelings filling her chest while simultaneously squeezing it in so she couldn’t breathe.

The Weasleys ambled down the stands, talking excitedly, sometimes over each other, about the match. 

“-- and then when they flanked her --” Bill gesticulated wordlessly. 

“-- she literally just --” Percy threw himself down the last three steps in an attempted demonstration. 

“-- and then they just --” Ron slapped his hands together and dropped them together quickly. 

“ _Brilliant_.” Bill grinned widely. 

“ _Epic_.” Percy puffed his chest out with pride for his little sister. 

“ _Legendary_.” Ron’s eyes were still glazed over like he was still reliving the match highlight reel in his mind. 

“ _Fuck you, Malfoy_!” Someone screamed ahead of them. 

“ _Throw the Death Eater out of here_!” Someone else clamoured. 

“ _Remember what they did last time_!” Another cry came, more hysterical than the last. 

A hex went flying, followed by another.

“ _Protego_!” yelled Draco. 

“ _Oi_!” Ron yelled, “I’m an Auror and you lot start dueling, I’m going to have to --”

Several curses bounced off Draco’s shield at once. Astoria gripped his hand tightly and apparated them back to the Muggle hotel. 

“Oh Merlin, I hate apparating,” she collapsed onto the bed immediately, looking very pale, her lips were practically gray. 

“‘Storia…” he sat beside her and summoned a Pepper-Up potion for her. “Were you hit?” 

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she pushed herself up so she was leaning back on her elbows and chugged down the potion. 

“I shouldn’t have taken you with me,” Draco laid down beside her. He was tired of feeling so damn guilty all the time. 

Astoria turned to him so quickly her head started spinning terribly and she leaned down to rest it on his chest. “I _wanted_ to go.”

He shook his head. “I shouldn’t have given in.”

“I’m your girlfriend. You’re supposed to give in to me.”

“I’m pretty sure there’s supposed to be some sort of give and take,” he muttered. “Not that I saw a lot of that growing up,” he added with a scoff. 

Lacking any of her usual grace and coordination, Astoria climbed on top of him. “I’m sorry, Draco. Please don’t be upset. I had a really good time with you tonight.”

“Really?” he smirked. “Because it looked like you were drooling over Valmai Morgan all night --”

She laughed and leaned down to kiss him hungrily and he had no choice but to respond, hands going to her waist and stroking down to her hips languidly. 

Meanwhile, on their way to the camp grounds after helping Sports and Rec take down the stadium and anti-Muggle wards, Harry and Hermione are stopped by a brunette woman with startling blue eyes. 

“So what was going on here?” Christi Lovetti asked, falling into step with them. 

Harry raised an eyebrow at her, “What do you think?” 

“I was just going for a stroll, minding my own business --”

“In the middle of the night? Alone? In Ireland?” he asked, knowing exactly where she lived _in London_. “You know we can take out a restraining order on you, right?”

“-- minding my own business,” Lovetti continued, “when suddenly, I can’t for the life of me turn left towards this big-ass meadow. Then suddenly, ha!” she waved her hands about. “Here I am! So what the hell is happening to me because I’ve seen insane - my nona’s insane - but I know I am _not_!”

Harry morphed his face into the look Petunia would give him when she’d call him a freak. It pained him to do so, but it might get her to leave them alone. 

“And _now_ you think I’ve _really_ gone batshit!” Lovetti sort of hugged herself and stomped away. 

As Harry watched her go, his eyes were drawn towards the green smoke forming on the horizon. Harpies fans celebrating their victory most likely, but still, it was in the direction opposite the camp grounds. 

“Harry?” Hermione touched his shoulder lightly. 

“You go on ahead,” he said to her, “I just want to make sure she gets to… wherever she’s staying alright,” Harry could not explain the prickling at the back of his neck and the cold sweat in his palms. 

“What do you want?” Lovetti must’ve heard him following her because she turned around haughtily. “I’m leaving you alone, alright? Somethings just aren’t meant for us ‘common folk’ to understand, is that it?”

“Are…” he observed her uneven gait and openly readable face, very different from their previous dealings with her, “Are you drunk, Ms. Lovetti?” 

“Oh, please, call me Christi,” she laughed mirthlessly. 

“You _are_ drunk,” Harry realized, “What are you doing all the way out here, then?”

Lovetti hiccupped pathetically and stumbled backwards. “My boyfriend… Oh, don’t come any closer, by the way. I know self-defense and I can kick your arse.”

“I… believe you,” Harry didn’t believe her, but he slowed down to let her gain some distance. “You have a ride?”

“I have a mind; I have a heart!” she sang, still walking backwards so she could keep him in her sights, even if she was seeing double of everything. “Oh, and I have a mouth to speak!” 

Harry frowned at the horizon, where the green smoke was rising just over the treetops. 

“So why don’t the lads let me take part?” Christi warbled, “Why don’t they let me…?” She spun around and noticed the green smoke. “What’s that?”

“Northern Lights.” Harry watched the smoke blow higher and higher, swirling in on itself in a manner far too controlled to be a natural phenomenon and far too slowly to be celebratory. 

“Oh, no!” Christi pouted and stomped, “Not that bullshit from ‘94 again! Come on, be straight with me!” 

Harry wordlessly stunned her before taking her arm and apparating her into the camp. “Ron! Hermione!” 

“Ginny’s here too, by the way,” the redheaded witch raised her own hand, but she was even more drunk than Christi. 

“Watch her, will you, love?” he laid the Muggle down beside Ginny. 

“What’s going on, Harry?” asked Ron. 

He took their hands and apparated them to where he’d followed Christi. The Dark Mark was now clearly visible in the night sky. 

“ _Expecto Patronum_ ,” Ron muttered, but only a light silver mist came out of his wand. He felt very cold and very afraid. 

“ _Expecto Patronum_ ,” Harry tried and a feeble stag emerged before dissipating. 

Hermione didn’t even bother trying. She just touched her wand to her DA galleon and it glowed in her hand to show her the message was sent. 

“Ready?” The witch held her wand out ahead of her. 

“Let’s go,” said Ron, starting forward. 

Harry nodded and advanced with them. 

His heart was hammering erratically in his chest. The last time this happened, Voldemort came back. He lost Sirius, the Weasleys lost Fred, they all lost a bit of themselves to the fighting, the stress, the death that surrounded them every day. He pushed all those feelings aside, down, away, wherever it was they went when they weren’t plaguing him with nightmares and flashbacks. 

With a flick of his wrist, he cried out, “ _Expelliarmus_!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know a cliff-hanger like this is probably the worst place to do it, but I really want to give you all my very best, not something I hacked together because I felt obligated to. So. It may be a while before I'm able to update again, but I STILL LOVE THIS STORY and more importantly, I STILL LOVE YOU GUYS, so it WILL get finished. That is a solemn promise. 
> 
> Until then, please take good care of yourselves!  
> \- Jeannie xx


	10. Healing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M BACK!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR PATIENCE and thank you so much, elanev91 for helping me edit this chapter!! You're the best xx

_His heart was hammering erratically in his chest. The last time this happened, Voldemort came back. He lost Sirius, the Weasleys lost Fred, they all lost a bit of themselves to the fighting, the stress, the death that surrounded them every day. He pushed all those feelings aside, down, away, wherever it was they went when they weren’t plaguing him with nightmares and flashbacks._

_With a flick of his wrist, he cried out, “Expelliarmus!”_

The hooded figure leaning over a smoking cauldron in the darkened thicket disapparated just as the wand was wrenched from his grasp by the spell. 

Harry darted forward, flanked by Ron and Hermione in case there was anyone waiting to ambush them from the trees. Harry pocketed the wand and checked the cauldron. 

“The dark mark is coming from its fumes,” he sighed with relief. “It’s fake.”

Ron glanced into the bubbling, swamp-green depths of the cauldron and conjured a cover for it. The smoking skull hanging over them began to dissipate. 

“I’ll take it to the auror’s office,” he said, taking hold of the handle. “I’ll take a sample to George, too. He’s good at potions,” Ron dispparated with a _pop_ just as members of the DA began to arrive. 

“Harry,” Hermione put a steadying hand on his shoulder.

“Potter,” Dedalus Diggle ran up to him on his short, stubby legs. “Are you hurt? Do you need --”

“I’m fine,” Harry stuffed his hands into the pockets of his robes to hide their shaking. “I’m fine.”

Sturgis Podmore arrived on the scene. He was a dignified wizard with wavy blond locks and a strong jaw. Rumour had it he had agreed to take up the DADA post at Hogwarts next school year. 

“Well, go on, you two,” Sturgis said, but he was looking primarily at Harry. “We’ll debrief at Grimmauld in… three hours?”

“Yeah,” Harry swallowed around nothing. “I’ll put the kettle on.”

Hermione apparated them both back to the Weasleys’ tent where Christi Lovetti was sobbing into Ginny’s muddy, sweaty shoulder. 

“He just --” She hiccuped. “Just up an--an--and left after telling me that! Like he--e--e -- didn’t even give me a second to _process_ ? I can’t believe I wasted two years of my life on that --- that -- that _twat_ ! That _wanker_ ! That -- that -- that _tosser_!” 

Ginny plied Christi with another sip of water. 

“Mm!” Some of the water dribbled down Christi’s chin. “And then I find this empty wine bottle in our flat, right? Looks centuries old --” Christi held up the said bottle. “And it’s empty! _Empty_ ! I’m not usually superstitious or anything, but it is a sure sign that my single life is _doomed_ if I can’t drown my own heartbrea--ea--eak,” Christi buried her head in Ginny’s neck and sobbed profusely. 

“There, there,” Ginny patted her back and gently pried the bottle from her grasp and handed it off to Harry as he came to them. She mouthed, _Portkey_. 

Harry nodded and checked it just to give him something else to do. It was one of the portkeys registered to bring people to the Quidditch match. 

Harry squatted beside Ginny and asked softly, “What’s the boyfriend’s name?”

“Justin,” Ginny whispered back.

At the sound of his name, Christi just started sobbing harder. 

“Does she expect him to go back to the flat?” he asked. 

“They live together,” Ginny shrugged, “He’s got to come back for his stuff sometime.”

“Oh, he’s not getting a thing!” Christi hiccuped, “He broke my heart, I’m taking his stuff! Including that stupid trunk he never lets me touch!” She gasped suddenly, sitting straight up so fast her head started spinning again. “I need to go back. I need to change the locks! I need to --”

“We’ll go back with you,” Ginny stood. “Can’t ever be too careful with these secretive blokes, can we?”

“Al--alri--ight, thank -- you,” she sniffed and hiccuped at the same time so it sounded a bit like a snort. 

Harry and Ginny apparated her to a tube station since she was drunk enough not to remember much anyway. She vomited as soon as they set feet down. 

“Oh, god, what was tha… oh! This is the train,” she boarded and the couple followed her. 

From the next station, they took a bus to a flat in Southwark near the bridge. 

“Oh, bother! I think I’ve left my keys in!” Christi puttered over to the window and tried it to no avail. 

“ _Alohamora_ ,” Harry whispered and ‘tried’ the doorknob, “Hey, Christi, it’s alright, it’s open.”

“Oh, that bastard is home, isn’t he?” Christi barrelled through the door and into a curly haired boy with a horrible gash across his left arm. His right hand was holding up a wand. 

“ _You’re_ Justin?” Harry blinked in surprise. He worked with Justin Finch-Fletchly at the Committee. He should've known better than most not to leave a portkey lying around where a Muggle could find it. 

Christi had stayed where she was, pressed into Justin’s chest and sobbing. 

He pocketed his wand and put his good arm around her protectively. “Christi, I’m so sorry, I never meant --”

“What happened to your arm?” Christi ran her fingers over the bandages almost soaked through with blood. 

“I, er,” Justin hesitated, looking at Harry and Ginny who both put their hands up with identical keep-them-out-of-this expressions on their faces. “I was drunk. Got into a motor accident. As in the bloke in the car had an accident, hit me. It looks worse than it is.” 

“I don’t want you to leave Justin,” she sobbed, “I just want you to talk to me! It seems like everyone’s keeping secrets from me. You, Mia, that bloke with the weird scar and his friends and I -- I -- I just --”

“Shh, s’alright,” Justin soothed. “We can talk in the morning, yeah? When we’ve both had a good night’s sleep. And I’ll have a word with the bloke with the weird scar right now. See if I can’t try to loosen a few leads for you.”

“Thank you, I’m sorry, thank you...” she kissed him sloppily. 

Justin showed Harry and Ginny out. 

“I was going to the Quidditch match,” Justin explained. “She was supposed to be working late, but she came home, said she wanted to go to dinner, asked if we could have that bottle you’ve got there,” he gestured at Harry, “Of course, I told her it was empty and I had already made plans, but she wanted to know what they were -- I… I’ve never been the best at… lying… I hid the bottle before I walked out though, I swear! She must’ve found it somehow...”

“You have to break it off with her, Justin,” said Harry. “She knows too much already --”

“Look, she might drive me mad, but I care about her. If we get married, I won’t be breaking the statute by telling her --”

“You would’ve been lying to her throughout your relationship, do you think she’ll just be okay with that?” Ginny frowned in concern, “She’s going to break your heart --”

“Then so be it,” Justin said bravely. 

“Alright, just… add a few small Muggle-repellent charms around your trunk and stuff, yeah?” Harry jotted down a few spells in his ticketbook and ripped out the page for him. “So she doesn’t stumble onto anything more. How did you get splinched?”

“My DA galleon started burning and I tried to apparate to the coordinates. What happened there?”

“Someone with a sick sense of humour made a potion with smoke that forms the shape of the dark mark,” Harry explained. 

“Merlin…” Justin leaned against the doorframe heavily, the smell of booze wafting from his mouth. “Did you catch ‘em?”

“Got their wand.” He tapped the breast pocket of his robes. “I’ll go to Ollivander’s first thing, but I suspect it’s stole--”

Justin pitched forward suddenly, trying to compensate for a tilt he’d thought he felt. 

“How do you even _begin_ to apparate while you’re this sloshed, mate?” Harry laughed, catching him by the arm.

“Not my finest moment,” Justin hung his head and his cheeks coloured with embarrassment. 

Harry took the paper back and wrote, _Dittany_. “That’ll fix you.”

“Thanks, Harry,” he stepped back into his flat. “Thanks, Ginny.” 

“Anytime, mate,” said Harry. 

“But hopefully not anytime soon,” Ginny added. 

After checking that the street was clear of Muggles who might see them, the couple apparated to Grimmauld Place where Sturgis, Dedalus, Ron, Hermione and the others were waiting. They went over exactly what happened and asked that the Committee as well as the aurors keep the Order updated. 

After everyone had left, Harry popped open a bottle of Firewhiskey. 

“What’s that for?” Ginny decided she was too tired for a real shower and just _Scourgify-ed_ herself.

“You won your very first professional match!” Harry beamed at her, handing her a glass full to the brim.

Ginny smiled tiredly and downed it all in one gulp. She traced the rim with a prettily manicured finger. “I’m thinking of quitting after this season.”

Harry’s first instinct was to ask her what the bloody hell she was thinking -- this was her dream! But he decided against it. “Where’s this coming from, Gin?”

“I hate playing second fiddle to Morgan, which I will always be doing because her family’s connected --”

“Marry me,” Harry said with a perfectly straight face, but his green eyes were twinkling so she knew he was only half-kidding. 

“Someday, Potter, if you ask me nicely,” she quipped, refilling her glass. “But it’s more than just that, it’s…” she lifted the glass to her lips and stopped, then set it back down on the table. “You could’ve gone pro too, but you decided to actually do something _important_ \--”

“I decided to do something I actually _wanted_ \--”

“Shouldn’t I _want_ to keep the world safe? You’ve done _so_ much for me and my family, Harry, the least I could do is try to help you!”

“What do you think of what George is doing?”

“Wha--okay, that’s _way_ different!”

“How?” Harry sat down across from her. 

“He’s making people laugh and smile, people who thought they might never know happiness again! I’m just --” 

“And Lee, what do you think about what he’s doing? Surely, you categorize it as entertainment as well --”

“Entertainment, education, he’s raising awareness on important issues that the likes of _the Prophet_ and _Witch Weekly_ shy away from!”

“And you know why I didn’t go pro, don’t you? I didn’t want Quidditch to become work to me. It’s always been something I did for fun. The first time I ever truly felt like a kid was when I got on a broom.”

Ginny took his hands in hers like a reflex. She did this often, initiating physical contact between him whenever he brought up his childhood, knowing it grounded him in what was real now, knowing it made him feel loved. 

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” he was saying now, “but while Quidditch is fun for you too, it’s also your work. It’s what you pour all your energy into and it’s what you care deeply about. You give the rest of us something else to think about when all else seems far too fucked up to even begin unraveling. You give us something to root for, something to have in common with people we wouldn’t be able to stand otherwise. So if you’re quitting because you think that what you do isn’t important, Gin, you’re quitting for the wrong reason.”

Ginny stood abruptly and walked over to him to straddle his lap. “I love you, Harry James Potter.”

“I love you t--”

She tangled her fingers in his wild hair and kissed him until they were both breathless, then she kissed him some more. 

Harry stood up and sat her down on the table so he was standing in between her strong legs. His hands roamed over her toned back and over her soft thighs. 

“Up--” Ginny muttered against his mouth, “--stairs.” She pulled and pushed on his robes until they loosened and she was able to worm her hands underneath them. “Now.”

Harry couldn’t clear his head enough to apparate them, so he just picked her up and started walking, clumsily, out of the dining room and up the stairs. 

*****

Ron apparated just outside his place in Ottery St. Catchpole and let himself in with his key. There was almost nowhere for him to step because the floor was strewn with books -- some of them talked and it wasn’t in English.

“Gobbledegook, huh?” he sat down on the floor beside Hermione. 

“I’m going to argue for the Goblins to open their books to us. As members of the Wizengamot, they have to aid us in our investigation. Time-turners are made from Goblin gold, you see, and none of the wizarding vendors have sold to Nott, at least not that they’re willing to tell us.”

“Have you tried subpoenaing the ones on Knockturn?” 

Hermione nodded, tucking a stray tendril of her curls behind her ears. 

“They don’t even keep records,” she huffed. “The Goblins are the source anyway and they like to keep track of where their goods end up, so it’s the best way…”

A big ‘if’ hung in the air between them. The Goblins had never been exactly forthcoming with them and often with good reason. 

“Can I help?” he asked.

“No, no, you’ve had a long day and tomorrow with the wand we fou--”

“It’s fine, come on. I can’t sleep anyway.”

Hermione smiled gratefully. “You can look through the Ministry records to see if there are any cases that provide a precedent for this. We’d still have to double-check on the Goblins’ end to make sure everything’s accurate, but --”

“Yeah, I got it.” Ron took the files from her and started leafing through them. 

As the hours passed in companionable silence, they ended up stretched out across the floor beside each other, propping their nodding heads up on their cramped arms. 

Ron was the first to start yawning, rubbing his eyes, and rolling over so he was lying flat on his back. “Do you know what this reminds me of?” He gestured between them and the parchments and books surrounding them. 

“What?” Hermione hummed softly. 

“Our little treasure hunt in ‘97.”

She let out a short laugh. “You say it like it was so long ago.”

“Doesn’t it feel a bit like it? Two years…” he sighed and turned to look at her, just to look at her.

Hermione turned to lie on her back as well. She gazed at him, an adoring sort of look in her dark brown eyes. 

“It’s kind of comforting,” she said, “knowing we survived that and, yeah, there might be a lot of work ahead of us, but… I mean, we did _that_ , you know?”

“Yeah,” Ron chuckled, “we did.”

“I’m so glad you’re here with me now,” Hermione whispered, her voice thick. “I feel like I could’ve lost you a million times in our lives in a million different ways, but I never did. Thank you for being here.”

“Nowhere else I’d rather be,” he smiled. 

They tried to get more work done after that, but they couldn’t help falling asleep as the sun peeked through the curtains, courtesy of Mrs. Weasley. 

Ron wrinkled his nose as something brushed against it. Then he snorted as it did it again. Then something very warm and furry sat down on his face, almost smothering him.

“Oi,” he mumbled, “Geroff me.”

“Meow,” said Crookshanks, sounding more like a human impersonating a cat than an actual cat, as per usual. 

“Whassamatter?” Hermione murmured. 

“Meow,” Crookshanks stated as though it were obvious. 

“Oh, Crookie,” she picked him up off of her boyfriend’s face and snuggled him under her arm, but he refused to stay there, deciding that her face worked just as well as Ron’s. 

Ron snorted, “Bloody little attention-seeker, that one.”

Hermione huffed out a laugh as she pulled the cat off her face. 

*****

The gray cobblestones looked almost black in the dark. The night sky was nice and clear as it was almost summer. It felt like the calm before the storm.

“Hey.” George stopped in his tracks in front of 97 Diagon Alley. 

“Hey, yourself.” Angelina walked towards him slowly. 

“So that was… mad, huh?”

“Yeah,” she handed him a vial of sludgy green liquid. “Ron asked me to get this to you since I, um, live in the area. It’s a sample of the potion that was used to make the dark mark.” 

“The _fake_ dark mark,” George reminded her.

She nodded, pressing her lips together tightly, dark brown eyes watering. “I’m sorry --”

“It’s alright.” He stepped towards her.

Neither of them really knew how it happened, but they ended up in a tight embrace, which turned into a feverish kiss.

“I don’t want to be alone,” she confessed. “I don’t want to _die_ alone…”

“Me neither,” George whispered, “It’s okay… We’ve got each other… We’ve got each other now…”

Angelina tugged on his robes, pulling him closer. He put his hands around her waist and guided her back against the door of his place. 

The next morning, they woke up looking at each other.

“Let’s not put a label on this,” was the first thing she said. “I mean, let’s take it slow.”

“Yeah.” He conjured up two glasses of water. “I’m good with that.”

She slipped out from under the covers and summoned her robes. 

“Why don’t you, uh, make yourself some breakfast?” he asked her. “The tests I’m going to do on your sample would only take about that long. You can take the results to work with you.”

“Alright,” she relented, although staying implied just the opposite of taking it slow. 

George’s kitchen was a small, simple affair, nothing like what he was used to at the Burrow. He hardly ever used it. 

“How did you manage to let your oatmeal expire?” Angelina laughed.

He looked up from the workbench on the other side of the flat. “Whatever you do, don’t open the fridge.”

“Cool,” Angelina just conjured herself a glass of water and walked over to the bench where three separate cauldrons were steaming. “What’ve you got?”

“Venomous tentacula sap, aconite leaves, and lobalug venom. The first two aren’t incredibly unusual, but lobalug venom is strictly regulated. You’re bound to find a paper trail somewhere.”

“Hang on,” Angelina picked up a copy of _the Daily Prophet_ on the coffee table and flipped to the news section. She touched her wand to it and said, “ _Proventus Tergum_.” The paper transformed through several back issues until she removed her wand from its surface. “There.” She set the paper down the table, a wry satisfaction on the curve of her full lips. “Someone stole a shipment from Greenwich almost a month ago. I’ll ask Transportation how far they were able to trace the tracking spells.” 

“You can go to Percy,” said George. “He’ll expedite things for you.”

“Thanks,” Angelina planted a kiss on his cheek. “Can I use your floo?”

He gestured over to his fireplace. 

“ _Ministry of Magic_!” She whirled around in a plume of green fire, smoke, and ash. She found Percy quickly -- just had to look for the redhead in horn-rimmed glasses. “Hey, can we talk?”

Percy flicked his wand and transfigured a pile of books in the corner of his cubicle into a semi-sturdy chair. “Hey, yeah, what can I do for you?”

“Any trace on that lobalug venom shipment that went missing about a month ago?”

“We recovered most of it.” He handed her a file. “Whoever smuggled it out of the shipping yard was able to crack the tracking spell on fifteen ounces.” Then he lowered his voice, “Is this related to what happened last night?”

Angelina nodded once and flipped open the file. “They apparated to Knockturn Alley, where the trackers stopped working...”

“We did multiple canvases. No one came forward, but you know, it's Knockturn.”

Angelina frowned deeply. “I’ll take this to Ron. He’s usually quite insightful about these things.”

“Yeah, so I’ve heard. Hey, is it true Bardin’s promoting him to detective?”

“I hope so.” She stood and the books fell to the floor beneath her. “We’re ridiculously short-staffed.” 

Angelina took the lift to Level 2, where Ron was just leaving, having received a message bird.

“We got him!” Ron exalted. “We got the bastard! Well, Hermione got him -- the Goblins said they sold three ounces to Blaise Zabini.”

“Wait, the Goblins? _They_ stole our shipment? Why hasn’t this gone to the Wizengamot?”

“Wait, it -- it just did, that’s how she -- what shipment?” Ron furrowed his brows.

“Hang on, what are you talking about?” Angelina pinched the bridge of her nose. 

“The time-turner,” he replied. “What are _you_ talking about?”

“The potion you found last night,” Angelina walked with him back to the lift. “So Blaise Zabini has three ounces of what?”

“Goblin gold.”

“Shit. He’s in league with Nott.”

“And he’s going to roll like a Quaffle when I tell him we can pin him for accessory to murder,” Ron practically shivered in glee. “So what’s this about a shipment?”

Angelina handed him Transportation’s case file. “There isn’t much to go on, I’m afraid.”

“Not in here, there isn’t.” He handed it back to her. “Our old potions professor at Hogwarts, though, Slughorn -- he’s got contacts all over the place and I’ll bet he’s used them to acquire rare potion ingredients.” 

“That’s… a pretty serious accusation to make,” Angelina frowned. 

“I ended up in his office once for a…” Ron scratched the back of his neck as his cheeks turned pink, “a chocolate incident…”

“A _chocolate_ incident?” her interest was piqued. 

“I saw a whole jar of Murtlap tentacles. There was a shortage in ‘96, remember? Because of the -- their habitat thing...”

“Global warming?”

“Yeah! But he had a whole _jar_ , just sitting pretty in his office! I’m not saying he knows where it came from or anything, but he’ll be able to give you a name at least.” Ron stepped backward into the floo. “Look, just tell him you’re a detective in the Auror offices and that you’re sorry you missed the chance to broaden your academic horizons under his tutelage. Buy him a few pints in Hogsmeade and let him do the talking.”

“Why don’t you do it since you seem to know him so well?” Angelina crossed her arms skeptically.

“He thinks my name is Wenby,” Ron deadpanned. “ _Leaky Cauldron_!” He tumbled out of the fireplace in his Muggle clothes and strode through the pub -- packed with the noon rush -- out into Muggle London. 

He jogged down into the tube station and flipped the switch on his auror’s badge to turn it into an oyster card, which he swiped to get through the turnstill. 

Blaise Zabini had moved back from Italy recently and was staying at one of his mother’s old houses in the West End. Ron found it easily. It was kind of impossible to miss with its imposing facade and large lawn with a fountain -- an actual fountain!

“Auror Weasley,” the olive-skinned boy came to the door, “to what do I owe the pleasure?” 

“You purchased some gold from Beruck the Blind a few months ago,” Ron leaned against the doorframe with all the appearance of casualty, but really, the angle he was now at gave him a good view into the swanky house. There was nothing outright suspicious -- yet.

“First of all, we don’t purchase things from the Goblins.” Zabini mirrored his stance. “We borrow them. We respect their customs --”

“I’m sure you do.” Ron straightened up. “Where’s it at now?”

“What?”

“Are you really going to play dumb with me?” 

“I just want to make sure we’re not miscommunicating. I think it’s so important for citizens and law enforcement to have a good relationship.”

_Up yours_ , was what Ron wanted to tell him, but instead he said, “Brill. The gold. The Goblin gold that you ‘borrowed’ from Beruck the Blind. Where is it?”

“Do you have a warrant?”

“Do you have something to hide?”

“I know my rights, Auror.”

“I know you met with Nott as soon as you got back from Italy.” Ron crossed his arms. “I know you gave him the gold so he could make the time-turner that killed Esteban Burbage. We’re going to arrest you for accessory to murder until you start talking.”

“You mean start incriminating myself? Then you’ll arrest me just the same. Forgive me for not jumping at such an incredible opportunity.”

“Fine, I’ll just arrest you for breaking the International Statute of Secrecy, assault on a Muggle, gang violence, operation of a Magical-Muggle enterprise without the appropriate docum--”

“I’d like to call my lawyer.”

“Oh, you mean the lawyer who also handles the Nott estate? Or the one from the same firm as him? Or any of the others than Nott can pay off to make sure that you rot in Azkaban for a crime _he_ committed --”

“He’s a businessman, like me,” Zabini shrugged, although Ron could see his eyes growing shifty. “He knows lying is bad for business.”

“Hey,” the auror put up his hands, “if you say so. I mean, if you really think he’s not going to consider you a blood traitor for living out here, if you really think he’s not going to use _your_ gold and therefore _your_ time-turner to bring back You-Know-Who --”

“Shit, Weasley, shut up and get in here, alright?” Zabini opened the door a little wider and checked the street as he let him in. He shut the door and whipped out his wand.

But Ron was faster. He raised an eyebrow. “Got something to say to me?” 

“Did you talk to Nott?”

“You mean did I tell him I know you’re his little errand boy, no, not yet. Do you want me to?”

“No!” Zabini lowered his wand slightly. “I bought the gold, alright? I even fashioned a few pieces, but I didn’t know what they were for! I didn’t have the complete specifications. There are others involved in this. Hell, Nott probably molded a few himself. I swear I thought it was honest business for once.” 

“How much did he pay you for it?”

“Seven thousand galleons.”

“Seven thousand and you thought it was _legit_?”

“Nott is rolling in it right now!” Zabini defended himself. “Collecting a lot of investments!”

“From who and for what?” Ron growled impatiently.

“I don’t know, some venture he’s putting together. I don’t play the stocks myself --”

“Do you actually _know_ anything?” 

“He’s throwing parties again.”

“Yeah, no shit, we get called over to Wiltshire for a noise complaint almost every week.”

“You should check the invite list.”

“Assembly doesn’t prove conspiracy. Do you have proof, Zabini?”

“Shouldn’t you be glad I’m not mixed up in their shit? One less Junior Death Eater to deal with?”

“I don’t know, _are_ you staying out of their shit?” Ron narrowed his eyes at him. “Because you’re either in or out, there is no in between, you understand? You step one toe out of line, me and the rest of the aurors are bringing you in with the rest of them.”

Zabini clenched his jaw and opened his door. “Have a nice day, Weasley.” 

Ron huffed and stepped back out onto the street. 

*****

In Cokeworth, Angelina materialized at a bus stop with a sharp _pop_! She walked past abandoned brick buildings and street lamps that looked like they might topple over any moment, she would be surprised if they even worked. The pungent smell of the river hit her nose like a right hook, she actually stopped for a coughing fit. At the corner of Spinner’s End, there was an old mill with a tall chimney, then the address Slughorn had given her. Ron had been right about him knowing a supplier. 

Angelina rapped her knuckles against the door.

“What?” A tall woman with a hooked nose and oily dark hair appeared to be sneering down at her. Or maybe that was just her face. 

“Eileen Snape?” she asked, swearing it was like looking at the female version of her former potions professor. 

“Who wants to know?”

“Auror Angelina Johnson. Have you brewed a potion that uses venomous tentacula sap, aconite leaves, and lobalug venom recently?”

“Is that illegal now?”

“No, ma’am, but it is critical to an investiga--”

“Then I don’t have to answer your questions.” She was about to shut the door on her, but Angelina stepped forward to block her. 

“Did you hear about the dark mark at the Harpies vs. Kestrel match?” 

“Yes, and no potion could do that! You’re wasting your time harassing honest people trying to earn an honest living!”

“Oh, is that the kind of operation you have running?” Angelina crossed her arms. 

“I have my certification to service Muggles right here!” She shoved a faded certificate in her face. It was almost ten years old, but it was another century away from expiry, having been acquired by the Prince family in the 1800s, back when licenses with terms as long as those were still being given out. “And I never gave out any dark mark potion!”

“But a potion that uses venomous tentacula sap, aconite leaves, and lobalug venom? Ma’am, if I have to come back here with a warrant and I see anything not up to modern standards, I _will_ call the appropriate departments on you.”

“Then come back with a warrant! I know my rights!” Eileen flicked her wand out of a holster in her loose sleeve and waved it threateningly. 

Angelina took one step back and the door slammed shut. She apparated to the back of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes where the adult section was. On the wall opposite the toys was a large board that shifted Quidditch players, teams, and stats in real time. Bardin liked to bet on Quidditch, as did many others on their lunch hour. 

George directed his Dicta-quill. “That’s three to one odds on Harpies vs. Puddlemere --”

“Four to one!” called a young witch, barely glancing up from her own furious scribbling. 

Looking over her shoulder, Angelina recognized the famous Bowman equation that many thought could be used to predict how long a certain snitch would take to be caught by a certain seeker under certain conditions. In the auror’s opinion, it was bogus, but she’d never been great at Arithmancy. 

“Four to one for Miss Vance,” George murmured to the quill as he caught Angelina’s eye and pointed to himself. 

Angelina shook her head slightly and pointed ahead at Bardin.

George got the head auror’s attention and pointed him in her direction before returning his attention to the crowd. “Do I hear five to one?” 

“What’s going on, Johnson?” Bardin was wearing puce robes with mint green lining. It wasn’t the most stylish combination, but it certainly made an impression.

“Eileen Snape knows something about the potion that was used in Ireland. I need a warrant.”

“How do you know?” He scratched his chin thoughtfully. 

“Horace Slughorn told me.”

Bardin pulled her aside. “Told you that she was involved? How does _he_ know?” 

“She supplies him with potion ingredients like the ones used to make it. One of them is very rare. It might even be from Transportation’s lost shipment.”

“When was the last time she supplied him?”

“About two months ago.”

“With the ingredients we’re currently interested in?”

Angelina bit her bottom lip. “No.”

“I can’t give you a warrant for that, Johnson, and I think you knew that before coming here.” 

“If you’d spoken to her, you’d _know_ she was hiding something!”

“Sure! Maybe she’s having an affair --”

“Her husband’s in Wormwood Scrubs.”

“Er, what?”

“Muggle prison,” she was able to explain, having taken Muggle Studies while she was at school. “Category-B.”

“Is that bad?”

“Second only to A and statistics show when one person in the family has engaged in criminal activity --”

“Johnson, give me a solid reason and I’ll get you your warrant, alright? I know this dark mark business has us all scared, but you weren’t in the department when Dolores Umbridge was breathing down our necks in ‘96 -- the number of cases she got thrown out because of our limited staff cutting corners to try and do the right thing quickly before more people got killed. We’re doing this the right way. Understand?”

Angelina squared her shoulders and nodded resolutely. “Yes, sir.” She already had another idea and floo’ed to the Muggle Liaison office. 

“Wotcher, Garland,” she left her wand at the door. “You have a mo’?”

“What do you need?” he swivelled around in his chair, sipping on some kind of Muggle drink -- the one with the mermaid logo. 

“Does Spinner’s End, Cokeworth have CCTV?”

“Are you serious?” the man chuckled mirthlessly. “With their crime rate, of course they do. But with their crime rate, there’s just the one. Bloody gangs keep taking them down, actually re-selling them on the black market, eventually they stopped bothering to replace them. So we just have…” he pulled it up on the screen, “that angle, but it covers most of the street.”

“Perfect.” She pulled up a chair and pointed at the grainy picture of Eileen Snape’s front stoop. “That’s the one we’re interested in. Let’s try going back a week.”

“Alright,” Garland hit rewind. “What are we looking for?”

“Anyone with Death Eater affiliations, hell, even prior misdemeanors. Even if they’re not involved, they might’ve seen what’s going on in there.” Considering how awful Severus Snape had been, Angelina had little doubt his mother might tread the same dark grey line he did. 

“Wait, whoa, stop, what about that kid?” Angelina squinted at the screen. 

“What about him?” Garland paused the video.

“I don’t know, he just looks shifty.”

“Everyone in that neighbourhood looks shifty.” 

Garland switched to a different camera to follow him back to the bus stop, where he met with a sullen-faced boy with twitchy eyes and a wide stance. He gave him something, then walked away.

“Could you see what that was?” Angelina rubbed her eyes.

“It… It looked like a thermos? They handed it off pretty fast, all I get is a blur when I freeze the image.”

“Alright, stay on this new kid.”

“Got it.” Garland hit play.

A flash of light filled the screen, then the boy looked up, as though talking to someone. When he stepped out onto what should’ve been the street, he disappeared. 

“Haha! Got ‘im!” Garland cheered. “Your boy’s a wizard! That was the Knight Bus you just saw picking ‘im up!”

“You bloody fantastic star!” Angelina shook his hand enthusiastically. “Can I get that picture?”

“Sure,” he hit the button on another Muggle contraption stuffed with crisp white paper and it spit out the grainy image. 

“Owl Minerva McGonagall with a copy as well.” She was already halfway out the door. “Ask her if he’s one of ours and why he isn’t at Hogwarts.” 

He gave her a thumbs up. “I’ll keep looking for anything else, too.”

“Thank you!” The second the auror was outside the Ministry, she thought with all her might that she would like to get away from there. A second later, a violently purple triple-decker materialized in front of her.

“Hey, Angelina,” Harry alighted, looking a little green.

“You bus to work?” she raised an eyebrow at him.

“Merlin, no,” Harry turned around quickly and almost hurled from the sudden spin, “No offence, guys --”

“None taken!” the driver waved genially.

“Anyway,” the bespectacled boy continued, “someone charmed a fleet of limousines to go as fast as the Knight Bus --”

“Merlin, was anyone hurt?”

“No, they copped the obstacle-avoidance charms too. It’s just a problem when someone drunkenly asks to be taken to the Eiffel Tower for a marriage proposal and they arrive there in ten minutes flat and then that someone happens to be the Muggle Prime Minister’s daughter --” 

“Yikes.” 

“Yeah, I gotta run down a lead. Catch you later to drink to Ron’s new badge?” Harry jogged back into the disguised Ministry entrance.

“Later!” Angelina turned back towards the bus. 

“Hello.” The conductor tipped his hat.

“Hello, Mr. Shunpike, I’m Auror Angelina Johnson. Where did you take this boy here? Do you know who he is?” 

“Dunno who he is, but we picked him up just outside Hogsmeade. Er, took him to Cokeworth, then back again.”

“Was he carrying anything with him? Er, maybe a thermos?”

“A what?”

“A bottle.”

“Oh, yeah! Dunno what’s in it though.”

“He didn’t drink it?”

“Nope.”

“Did he say anything about it?”

“Nope. Just kept singing this catchy little tune… What was it now, Ernie?”

The driver started humming a bit, then Shunpike caught on. 

“Oh, yeah,” he waved his finger about in the air. “Take me out to the Quidditch match, take me out on a broom!”

Ernie harmonized the next line with him, “Buy me a potion to set things in motion to bring the good times back!”

Angelina gaped. “You swear on your wands that’s what he said?”

“We swear,” they said. 

“Brill.” She grinned like a Cheshire cat and brought them into Bardin’s office to get her warrant. 

“Hey, Johnson!” Garland waved an envelope in the air. “McGonagall got back. Says the student’s Boris Avery, but it can’t be, because he was in the infirmary all week. She’ll be conducting an internal investigation, blah-blah-blah.”

“Did you just blah-blah-blah Minerva McGonagall?” Bardin’s eyes widened.

“Er...” Garland scratched the back of his neck. “Maybe?”

“Can I get a warrant for Avery too, boss?” asked Angelina. “His family’s in this deep --”

“He’s a minor.” The head auror shook his head. “If the headmistress gets back to us that it was him, I’ll reconsider.”

“But _he’s_ the one who --”

“Take your wins, Detective. Go get Snape.”

Angelina sent out a patronus to Ron, Katie, and Alicia, and met them at the bus stop. 

“Alicia, Terry, Katie, back door. Ron and Padma with me up front. Alicia, Ron, I want you on anti-apparition wards. If the rest of you see the suspect, take her down. Ready?”

“Ready,” they chorused. 

Ron sent a patronus to Percy to shut down Eileen’s floo network. 

“Disapparate on three.” She looked around for Muggles, but no one was out in the middle of the afternoon. “One, two, three!”

Angelina leveled her wand at the door as Ron put up anti-apparition wards. “ _Bombardia_!”

“ _Stupefy_!” came a cry from inside. 

“ _Protego_! Eileen Snape! This is Auror Angelina Johnson with a warrant for your arrest!” 

“ _Incarcerous_!” Katie bound their suspect hand and foot. “You’re under arrest. Anything you say can be used against you in the Wizengamot.” 

“I had nothing to do with what happened in Ireland, I told you!” Eileen writhed against her bonds desperately. 

“What was the potion you gave to Boris Avery?” Angelina stood over her.

“It’s just a refrigerant!”

“A what?” Alicia frowned.

“A Muggle potion,” Angelina explained.

“It’s not dark! I swear on my life!” Eileen cried. “If he did it, he must’ve modified it somehow!” 

“I studied up on the effects of different poisons and potions after one was used against me,” Katie spoke up, voice eerily calm. “Yours was not just so cold that it pulled all the heat out of everywhere else, it also instilled feelings of fear. It might not have been dark, but it was certainly malicious.”

“So?” Eileen jeered. “It’s not a crime!”

“It’s not in the course syllabus at Hogwarts and you sold it to a minor.” Padma looked to Katie, her training master for approval. 

Katie nodded. “That makes it a crime.”

“A few days in the Azkaban basement ought to give you a taste of your own medicine,” Terry Boot quipped. 

“Hey.” Ron beckoned from the kitchen. “I found her books. She has all her customers and their regular orders listed. This so-called refrigerant went out to over twenty households in Cokeworth among other potions with Merlin-knows what sort of effects. Can you _imagine_ feeling terrified every time you tried to get a snack?” he shuddered just thinking about it. 

“Give it to the Committee,” Angelina instructed. “They’ll investigate and pass the wizarding ones back to us.”

“They’re still on the man-hunt for the limo saboteur. The Muggle Prime Minister’s daughter was in one of them apparently.” 

“Yeah, I heard, but _we’ve_ got to build a case against Boris Avery --”

“Avery?” Ron frowned deeply. “As in… _Death Eater_ Avery?”

“Do you know another family?” Terry was just full of one-liners today. 

“I’ll head to Gringotts, check for account activity.” Ron tucked the books under his arms. He still didn’t feel comfortable leaving this part of the case hanging, but he trusted Harry and Hermione to do the job justice… whenever they managed to find the time. 

That evening, the largest booth in the Leaky Cauldron was packed with Harry, Ron, and Hermione on one side, and Hannah, Neville, and Angelina opposite. Padma Patil, Terry Boot, Alicia Spinnet, and Katie Bell had pulled up additional chairs around the general vicinity. 

The floo dinged to signal the arrival of four fiery redheads. 

“For he’s a jolly good wizard,” George started singing, “for he’s a jolly good wizard --”

“Congratulations to my brother --” Ginny raised her personal flask of pumpkin juice, because she was off alcohol during the Quidditch season. “-- Ronald Bilius Weasley --”

“Your middle name is _Bilius_?” Dean hooted.

“-- for earning his detective’s badge,” Ginny finished. “Only took him like, two years.”

“Oi!” Ron punched her shoulder lightly, trying to look serious. 

“Congrats, Ron,” Bill clapped his little brother on the shoulders and shook him a little. “Mum says to be home by eleven, by the way.”

“And I’ll know whether you do as she says or not,” added Percy. “Seeing as you can’t apparate after your fourth shot of Firewhiskey.

Ron’s ears pinked amidst the laughter of his mates. “I don’t even live at the Burrow anymore!”

“Alright, hold on,” Harry held up his hands for silence. “Now that everyone’s here, let’s have a speech from the wizard of the hour, eh?” he gestured for Ron to stand up.

“No, no, I really --”

“Come on, Ron,” Hermione smiled widely at him, adjusting his robes. 

“Yeah, Ronnie,” Seamus teased, his Irish accent especially thick now that he was seven drinks in. “You’re not gonna say no to your girlfriend, are you?”

“Fine, I’ll do it, but I’m only thanking two people or I’ll be talking all night.” Ron got to his feet to whoops and cheers. “First thanks goes to my incredible training master, Angelina.” He raised his tumbler to her. “This job is one of the hardest in the world to do, nevermind do well, and she does just that every single day. It was an honour to serve with her.”

“Hear, hear!” called George, smiling at the beautiful woman he cared for.

“I’d also like to thank my brilliant girlfriend,” he leaned down to kiss her cheek. “‘Mione, this job would drive me mad if it wasn’t for you and your logic, even though I say I can’t stand it sometimes. I love you and that love gives me all the strength I need.”

“Aww,” Ginny rested her chin in her hands. “Ronnie, how sweet!”

Ron flicked his wand at her flask so it jumped up and splashed her robes. 

“Hey!” she jumped up and _Scourgified_ herself before pointing her wand at him.

“Oi!” Old Tom wagged his finger at them from behind the bar. “No dueling in here!”

Ron and Ginny put their hands up and pocketed their wands.

“Oh, I do have one more thing to say,” said Ron. “I understand that the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee is backlogged and my detective’s badge is valid throughout the ministry, so I talked to Podmore and she says I can start tracking down Eileen Snape’s victims tomorrow.”

Hermione grabbed him by the collar and kissed him fiercely. “I love you.”

*****

The Cokeworth registry was a dilapidated brick building just like every other in the neighbourhood. Half the records were destroyed in a fire in ‘95, but the registrar, Fran, was ancient and knew absolutely everyone. 

“Uh, what about William Tucker?” Ron scribbled the last address on his brand new Committee ticketbook. He was there under the pretense of finding houses eligible for government-funded repair, although he fully intended to _Reparo_ everything in sight when he paid Eileen’s victims a visit.

“Oh, he’s dead. Up at the old Evans’ place.”

“You mean... he died there,” Ron clarified. “He’s not… still there.”

“Oh, no, he’s still there. Buried in the plot just behind the house. It backs into a graveyard, see?” She rattled off the address. “The Evans girls used to play there before one of them died. We called them the Witches. The older one grew out of that phase quickly, though.”

“The older one, you mean there were two of them?” 

“Yes, sisters, like I just said.”

“Did the one who died -- Did she have red hair? Green eyes?” 

“I -- Yes, did you know her?” 

“Of her,” Ron smiled. As soon as he left the registry, he sent a Patronus to Harry.

The dark-haired boy materialized out of thin air in the middle of the quiet Muggle street. Much of his lightning-bolt scar was carefully hidden by his fringe. “Are you sure?” he asked.

“I have the address.” Ron held up his ticketbook. 

They walked together in silence, to the western edge of the neighbourhood, south to the bog, a good, yet walkable, distance away from the crime hub that was Spinner’s End. Harry swallowed thickly and wiped his clammy hands on his jeans. 

As they passed the playground, Harry wondered if his mother had ever played there. Would she have liked the swings if she didn’t like flying? Perhaps she preferred the sandbox, where she could work with her hands like in Potions or Charms, both of which she’d excelled in. 

There was a bus stop on the corner that would’ve taken her to Euston, and she probably got to King’s Cross from there every September. Harry suddenly remembered that her parents, his grandparents, had been alive and supportive of her magical schooling. Would they have accompanied her? Or better yet, driven her? 

“Number 3…” Ron murmured quietly, walking in stride with him, but doing him the service that all blokes did for one another, which was to pretend not to notice when your eyes started to water or your nose started to run. “Here we are.”

The house had a garage, which meant they likely had a car. It had a small garden plot and a freshly painted cream-coloured stoop. The windows were not shuttered and Harry could see the sky-blue curtains on the inside. 

“A bloke named Tucker’s supposed to have lived here,” said Ron. “But he’s dead now. Grave’s in the back.”

“Sorry, wha--What?” Harry blinked.

“The house backs into the graveyard… the lady at the registry said… your mum and her sister used to play there… when they were kids. They called them ‘the Witches.’”

He chuckled lightly. _The Witches_. Little did they know.

The boys walked between the picket fences to the graveyard. 

“Older plots would be further back.” Ron opened the gate to the Tucker family plot. “Guess the cemetery didn’t used to extend this close to the houses back in the day.” 

Harry nodded and went on. The Evans family plot was not well kept as there were no surviving members of the family except for himself. He was glad he’d helped Mrs. Weasley with the gardening at the Burrow so often. The weeds were cleared and fresh blooms put in their place with a few waves of his wand.

The two most recent graves -- ‘75 and ‘76 -- belonged to Benjamin and Annabelle Evans. Benjamin’s epitaph read: _Loving father and husband._ _Calcium carbonate to calcium carbonate_. Harry vaguely remembered that ash was made of carbon and shook his head at his grandfather’s sense of humour. Annabelle’s read: _Loving mother and wife. Free as a song, singin’ forever._ Harry sighed longingly, but he was not unhappy. He knew more of his family now and they had loved each other. He was humming “Only Yesterday” by the Carpenters when he rejoined Ron on the street. 

“Alright, mate?” the redhead asked.

“Never better,” said Harry. “Can I help you make your rounds?”

“Sure, if Podmore doesn’t need you for something else?” 

Harry checked his ticketbook just to make sure. “Nope, we’re good. How many addresses?”

“Um…” Ron flicked his wand at the page for a summation spell. “Forty-two, so that’s twenty-four each.”

Harry raised his eyebrows skeptically. It was already mid-morning. “Remember we have to investigate, remedy, explain and assure --”

“Oh, and if you could _Reparo_ any structure that needs it,” added Ron. “That’s supposed to be why we’re here to determine which houses are eligible for government-funded repair work.”

“How about we do twenty-four today, then the rest tomorrow?” Harry proposed. “One of us investigates, repairs, and remedies while the other explains and we’ll switch off every other house. That way they’re less likely to notice any magic.”

“Right-o.” Ron checked his list. “Ingrid Siemens is the closest. Number 9…”

“The one with the bars on the windows?” Harry frowned and got ready to release his wand from his wrist holster.

“Yeah. I’m Contact, you’re Cover?”

“It’s your case, Detective.”

Ron was very professional about hiding how chuffed he was at his new title. He tried the doorbell. “Did you hear anything?”

“Maybe it’s broken.”

He tried knocking. 

“Go away!” came a terrified shriek. 

“Ingrid Siemens? It’s Ron Weasley with the housing and industrial department. We think you’re eligible for --”

“I said go away! You government suits always disappearing good people --”

“ _Alohamora_ ,” Ron whispered and inched open the door. “Ma’am, I need to inspect your home for you to get your repairs funded by the departme--”

_Bang_ ! _Bang_!

“Gun!” Harry put up a wordless _Protego_ spell and the bullet ricocheted into the couch that was collecting dust in the living room. As a matter of fact, it looked like everything that had a line of sight to a window hadn’t been touched in months. 

“Bloody hell,” Ron muttered. “ _Accio_ gun!” The weapon zoomed down the stairs and he disintegrated it before starting up the stairs. “Ingrid, I’m coming upstairs, alright? I really need to do this inspection.”

“Go away!” she wailed. “Leave me alone! Please!”

Harry went into the kitchen and sniffed the various potion vials that said they were supposed to treat migraines. He smelled the sourness of Horklump juice and the stench of Flobberworm mucus, enough to make even a magical being see things that weren’t really there. He sent a Patronus to Regina Cattermole, one of their Obliviators. 

“Living nightmare potion.” He joined Ron halfway up the stairs. "She doesn't know what's real."

“What?” 

“The one Slughorn kept insisting was purely theoretical.” Harry passed Ron a vial of calming drought and sleeping potion. “That should keep her stable until an Obliviator gets here.”

Just then, the sound of sirens echoed, getting closer and closer. 

“ _No_!” Ingrid screamed. “You won’t take me alive!” 

The boys charged up the stairs.

“Master bedroom, clear!” said Ron. “What in Merlin’s name is that racket?” 

“Bathroom, clear!” Harry strode back down the hallway. “Muggle police! We’ll have to apparate her out! We can explain her disappearance later!”

“Master bathroom, clear!”

“ _Incarcerous_ ! _Silencio_ ! Found her! Let’s go, Ron!” he heard the distinct _pop_! of his friend’s disapparation.

“Freeze!” a female voice Harry recognized made him whirl around. 

“Christi, I don’t have time for this --”

“I have pepper spray and I’m not afraid to use it!”

Harry let out a long-suffering sigh. “It says ‘good up to three feet.’ We’re apart at least twice that.”

“What do you want with that woman?” Christi stepped forward hesitantly, eyeing Harry’s wand with more curiosity than fear. Hadn’t she seen one like that in Mia’s bedroom once? “How did you get in this house? The door’s deadbolted! Even if you could pick the lock, you shouldn’t have been able to --”

“ _Stupefy_ ,” Harry grabbed Ingrid and Christi and disapparated just as the cops cleared the landing. 

“We agreed to -- and he said he had her -- Harry!” Ron exclaimed. “Hey, isn’t that the Muggle who keeps sticking her nose into our business?”

“One of you better be a patient or I’m kicking you out.” Hannah emerged from behind a thick green curtain, arms akimbo and looking very cross. 

“Symptoms of schizophrenia, psychosis,” Harry transferred Ingrid into the Healer’s care. “She’s a Muggle who was given a living nightmare draught.”

“I’ll see to her,” Hannah promised.

“Thanks,” said Harry. “Er, do you have a -- a conference room or something we could use?” 

“There’s a part of the old Muggle mall that hasn’t been renovated. Up the stairs, take the left out the red exit door.” 

“What are we doing with her?” Ron pointed at Christi, who was still unconscious.

“Write in your book to Podmore, Garland, Hermione, and Justin. We’re expanding our Muggle Liaison department.” 

When Christi came to, the first thing she saw was the face of her boyfriend. “Justin! How did you find me? Where are we -- What are _they_ doing here?” She pointed at the other wizards and witches. “They’re the ones who broke into that poor lady’s house! And the ones I heard at the pub I was telling you about -- _the Leaky Cauldron_?”

“Wait, she can see that?” Ron frowned. “How can she see that?”

Harry sighed and ran a hand over his face. “I’ll remind Neville to update the wards.”

“I heard them talking about another woman who lives on Spinner’s End, the one who was arrested -- but I couldn’t find any records -- Ingrid was afraid of government officials disappearing people -- Justin, _say_ something!”

Justin took a deep breath, “We’re not government --”

“ _Shit_ ! _Fuck_ !” Christi continued to freak out. “What did I -- I thought you were -- Are you targeting me? Do you even _love_ me?”

“I _mean_ we’re like Mia, your cousin,” Justin amended quickly. “She’s a witch --”

“ _What_ did you call her?” she snarled.

“A _witch_. She can do magic.”

“Like hell she -- Oh my God, are you guys part of a _cult_?”

“How soon until her cousin arrives?” Podmore asked Hermione. 

“Regina’s bringing her from Hogwarts,” she replied. 

“I thought you said he was her boyfriend?” Ron asked Harry.

“Since when does that make a bloke qualified to do anything?” 

“Good point.” 

“Um, hi, you remember me?” Garland spoke up. “I’m what they call Muggleborn. I didn’t know magic was real until a witch did the impossible right before my eyes. We’re not supposed to make it known to people, see? Most of the time, it prevents disasters like witch hunts, but sometimes good people get hurt. Like the woman whose house you went into. She was given a draught by an illegal potioneer. Our healers will be able to restore her mind and she will be able to return to her life as normal.” 

Christi just gaped at him.

“Wotcher!” Regina greeted everyone cheerfully as she materialized with Mia. 

“Christi! They said that I can tell you now because you’re family anyway and you won’t tell anyone because they want to hire you!” Mia took out her wand. “Watch: _Wingardium Leviosa_!”

Christi watched as a mannequin that had been left lying on its side was lifted into the air, righted, and then set back down. 

“You can check for strings if you like,” Mia beamed. 

It took a bit more convincing after that -- Regina turned into her animagus, a tiger; Justin transfigured the broken tiles into a rich red carpet; and Hermione conjured up a flock of birds to sing Britney Spears’ “… Baby One More Time.”

“And… I get to live in this world? Use magical objects? See magical creatures?” Christi looked at each of them in turn, eyes wide like a child’s.

Justin nodded vigorously. “All you have to do is help us out when a case has heavy Muggle involvement, keep us up to date on current events, that kind of thing.”

“Yes!” she shrieked and threw her arms around him. “Yes, yes, yes, I’ll do it! Thank you so much for thinking of this!”

“Oh,” Justin hugged her. “Harry actually --”

“I’m kind of a big deal in the wizarding world,” Harry cut in quickly. “So when Justin asked me to see what I could do for you two to be together, I thought it would be nice to help out.”

_Thank you_ , Justin mouthed over Christi’s shoulder. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you before, Christi. Most wizards and witches don’t even tell their partners after they marry. They just… give up magic all together.”

“Give up magic?” Christi looked at him incredulously. “So… were you going to…”

“I’m a Muggleborn, so it’s not like I can’t live without it,” he grinned. 

“I’m glad you don’t have to.” She kissed him deeply. “You’re wonderful just as you are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like my writing, please follow me on [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/jccolewrites/) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/jccolewrites) @jccolewrites for something exciting on the way!! xx


	11. Chaos is Our Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shoutout to bananasareamazng for binge-reading all my HP fics, this random out of nowhere update is for you xx
> 
> thank you to my incredibly patient beta, elanev91, you're an absolute treasure <3

Caverin and Merina Elezra were happy to say they were quite extraordinary, thank you very much. At eleven years old — almost twelve, Caverin was often reminding his twin sister — they could levitate objects, pick any lock, and fly broomsticks hundreds of feet in the air. This was all possible because Caverin was a wizard and Merina was a witch, but the time had come for them to leave the sanctuary of Hogwarts, their school and their home. 

“You can stay with us if you like,” said their friend and Quidditch mentor, Ginny Weasley, who’d come to meet them at King’s Cross station. “We have our own pitch — sort of — we could train there and Mum’s been going on about how empty the house is now that almost everyone’s moved out except for me and Percy —”

“A real magical house?” Caverin beamed. “Sign me up!” 

“Thank you, Ginny.” Merina was always more hesitant to accept charity than her brother. “But we’re all set for the summer at our aunt’s. She’s expecting us.”

“Oh, excellent, I’d love to meet her,” said Ginny. “See about getting you your own broom —”

“She’s at work,” said Merina. “We’ll owl you. Maybe we can arrange a visit.” Privately, she doubted it. 

Caverin took her aside with a pout. “Come on, Rina. We can just owl Auntie — can you imagine what her face will look like when an actual _owl_ delivers the post directly to her kitchen table? She’ll throw a fit!”

“And call child protective services on the Weasleys, is that what you want?” She rounded on him. “What’s more, they’ll see Aunt’s house and throw us in foster care, is that what you want?” 

“Don’t you get it? We don’t play by those rules anymore! We’re wizards! And so are the Weasleys —”

“We’re not above the _law_ , Verin. Haven’t you been paying attention in History of Magic?”

“Who actually does though?” 

“We’re staying with Auntie and that’s final.”

Reluctantly, they said goodbye to Ginny at Platform 9 ¾ and took the train to Lambeth. 

To their surprise, their aunt was home when they arrived, flying down the walk towards them, arms outstretched, and tendrils of graying hair flying wildly.

For a brief second, Caverin thought she was going to hug them or something completely out of the ordinary like that. Merina saw the harsh glint in her eyes first and stepped in front of her brother, hand closing over her wand, which was sticking out of her back pocket. 

Their aunt grabbed their arms hard enough to leave bruises.

The girl cried, “ _Rictusempra!_ ” 

Mrs. Elezra buckled to the ground in a laughing fit. Some of the neighbors peeked out their windows and Merina quickly stowed away her wand. Her aunt looked more a witch — the traditional Muggle depiction — than she did. Laughing mirthlessly, eyes stony, vice-grip on their wrists. The twins remembered Harry’s warning at King’s Cross the first time they met him and with the neighbours out, they didn’t want to risk making their magic known. 

At the doorstep, their aunt wrenched their wands away before shoving them inside the house, where she threw the wooden sticks in the fireplace. 

“ _No!_ ” Caverin leaped forward but was blown back by a sudden blast from the destruction of the wands. 

Their aunt took the brunt of it, smashing into the window and slumping to the floor, unconscious. 

“Verin!” Merina helped him up. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” he grunted. “Do you still have the floo powder from McGonagall’s office?”

His sister nodded. Whenever they were called into her office (usually for misdemeanors), they snuck a bit of floo powder for emergencies like this. 

They huddled together inside their tiny fireplace and yelled, “ _The Burrow!_ ” 

In a swirl of green smoke and black soot, they tumbled through to the Weasleys’ kitchen. 

“Good heavens!” Molly Weasley jumped up from her rocker, knitting falling to the floor, needles still clicking of their own accord by magic. 

“Terribly sorry, Mrs. Weasley.” Caverin was the first to stop sneezing. “We’ve, um, come to visit our friend, Ginny?”

“We’ll clean this up first.” Merina picked up the sweeping broom in the corner and began to clean the hearth. 

“The cleaning spell’s _Scourgify_ , dear,” Molly supplied, smiling at the twins’ good manners. “They never did place a particular emphasis on practical everyday spells at Hogwarts.”

“We…” Caverin hesitated. “We can’t. Our wands —”

“We lost them!” Merina exclaimed. 

“For Godric’s sake, Rina!” he yelled. “You might be okay with living this, but I’m not! Not anymore! I hate living with that crazy old bat and I hate being too bloody proud to get help! We’re just kids! We shouldn’t have to —”

“Kids have parents,” she snapped.

“If I may,” Molly interrupted them. “If you bought your wands at Ollivanders, there’s a seven-year warranty now or as long as you’re in school, whichever is longer. You can replace them.”

“Thank you,” Merina said quietly. 

“I’ll call Ginny for you.” Molly sent off a silvery light in the shape of a beaver that reminded Merina of Mrs. Beaver in _The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe_. Molly spoke to the beaver in a whisper. The beaver nodded and ran off, fading into the sunbeams streaming through the window. 

“What was that?” asked Caverin.

“It’s called a Patronus,” Molly answered. “A guardian against dementors and a very convenient little messenger. “Would you care for some refreshments while we wait?”

“Thank you,” said Caverin.

“No, thank you,” said Merina. 

Molly prepared two glasses of milk anyway and two large cookies the size of pancakes. Caverin gobbled it all up in the five minutes it took Ginny to arrive.

“Alright?” She knelt in front of them. 

Merina nodded, but Caverin shook his head. 

“You live in Lambeth, don’t you?” she asked them. “Harry’s responding to an explosion there… looks like a wand deconstruction gone wrong.”

“Is… Is it fatal?” Merina clicked the heels of her Oxfords together nervously. They were technically boys’ shoes, but the styling and embellishments on the girls’ ones made them, in her opinion, unreasonably priced. 

“No, your aunt should be fine, barring a trip to St. Mungo’s, but we take it very seriously when a Muggle relative tries to quash the magic out of Muggleborns.” Ginny licked her thumb and rubbed the soot off their cheeks. Then she realized she was becoming her mother and stopped. “You won’t have to live with her anymore. You can stay here for the summer. Alright?”

Caverin had a big “yes” on the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t want to be anywhere without his sister. And contrary to her opinion, he had been paying attention when they discussed the law in History of Magic and he knew that even verbal agreements could be binding in the wizarding world. 

“Rina?” he asked. “Please.”

Merina knew she was proud and it hurt that she couldn’t take care of them like she’d wanted to. But because of her pride, their aunt had almost died and despite the way she’d treated them, Merina didn’t think she deserved that fate.

“We can stay,” she agreed. “If we learn practical everyday spells from Molly so we can help around the house.” 

“Yes!” Caverin exalted, throwing his arms around her in a big hug.

*****

Harry materialized behind a large oak on Privet Drive in the middle of the day, when everyone was at work. He walked up to Mrs. Figg’s doorstep and rang the bell. 

“Oh, Harry!” she greeted him with a worn smile. “Come in, come in.”

“Happy birthday, Mrs. Figg.” He presented her with the usual cake. “Merlin’s socks!”

There were six lampshades, sans the lamp, half a curtain, and a torn up couch, not to mention the tell-tale pawprints all over the carpet. 

Harry set about cleaning and repairing immediately. “You could get RACOM-C down to —”

“I could, but the furries will just start up again and I don’t want to discourage her.” Mrs. Figg nodded at the baby girl sitting in the middle of the warzone of a living room, surrounded by kneazles of every shape, size, and color imaginable. 

“Delphi turns their furballs into toys — it’s their playing that causes most of the mess — and in return, they don’t change their fur back when she re-colors them.” Mrs. Figg cut up the cake and served it on her good china, but even that had stray bits of cat hair on it and had to be dusted before use. “It’s good for business, mind. Do you have any idea how many witches and wizards want a _purple_ kneazle. It’s madness!”

Harry looked at the dark-haired baby. She looked unassuming enough. Hell, she looked like a Black. Like Sirius might’ve looked when he was younger. “That’s… a bit more than _accidental_ magic though, isn’t it?” 

“Oh, yes, your boss has been by on numerous occasions.” She pointed to the stack of tickets on the dining table. Harry could just make out Jeremia Podmore’s impatient scrawl. “But eventually, she just stopped coming. We’re fine, Harry. Aren’t we Delphi?”

Delphini cooed back and then her chubby little fingers went into her mouth, as if trying to determine the source of such a curious sound. 

Harry sat on the floor in front of her. The child of his enemy. The _powerful_ child of his enemy. Was this how Riddle had felt, looking at Harry, right before he tried to kill him? 

“I know what you’re thinking,” said Mrs. Figg. “You’re wondering, ‘Who am I to challenge destiny?’ ‘Who am I, a boy whose entire life until now has been dictated by prophecy, to say that this child will not damn us all?’”

“Aren’t you wondering the same thing?” he asked.

“Your life was not dictated by prophecy, Harry. It was dictated by a man who believed in one.”

Harry swallowed. “Dumbledore.”

Mrs. Figg nodded. “Now maybe there is some greater design by some greater being out there, but part of that design is our ability to make choices that ripple out into other people’s choices, that ripple out into more people’s choices, and so on. We can’t control the choices Delphi will make, but we can control which choices we give her.”

At hearing her name again, Delphini gurgled and clapped. A brown kneazle turned key lime green. Delphini frowned and clapped again. The kneazle’s fur darkened to match the hue of Harry’s eyes. She looked from the kneazle, to the visitor, then outstretched her arms, appearing to present him with the gift. 

She looked like a Black. Like Andromeda when she was that age. And right then, she reminded him of Teddy. 

“You’re very talented, Delphi,” Harry complimented her and let her wrap a small hand around his finger in an approximation of a handshake. 

*****

A pale-faced man with stringy, ash-blond hair was moved into the Azkaban basement for good behavior. It was the farthest from the dementors, so his head cleared enough to be able to think if he put some effort into it. The man began to see how weak the stone walls were due to the tide constantly crashing against them. 

He had never been a powerful wizard by any means, but he was resourceful, and sometimes, that was a force greater than any raw magic. With his metal dinner tray and dull butter knife, he pried at the keystone of the arched wall until the guards summoned his tools away. Day after day, night after night. 

On the first day of August, he was close — oh, so close — when his tray and dull knife were summoned away. 

“ _No!_ ” he yelled in frustration. “ _No. No. No!_ ”

The man clawed at the stone with his bare hands until his fingers bled and water began to seep in through the cracks. He backed away and the next wave to crash into the wall broke through. One heavy stone hit his knee and another struck the side of his face like a suckerpunch. He held onto the bars of his cell as the current threatened to sweep him out to sea. He would go with it eventually, but first, he needed a wand. 

“Help! Help!” he cried out hoarsely. 

Two guards jogged down to his cell and unlocked it with their paired keys. While one attempted to stop the water, the other attempted to secure the prisoner. ‘Attempted,’ being the keyword. 

The man wrenched the wand out of the Unspeakable guard’s hand and stunned him and his partner. Then he swam out of range of the prison’s wards, out of range of the dementors, and apparated away. 

He materialized in Wiltshire, in front of a large manor, but he couldn’t get past the wards. They must be new.

“ _Sectumsempra!_ ” he hissed and when the dark spell was absorbed into the ward, an alarm sounded from within. 

A boy appeared just inside the wards — no, that wasn’t quite right. He was a man with the same steely gray eyes and platinum blond hair as the escaped prisoner. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t call the aurors right now.”

“You are my son. And this is still my house —”

“It is _mine_ —” 

“You’re both wrong,” said a stately woman with dark black hair, save for a few streaks of white. “This house is mine. What do you want, Lucius?”

Lucius Malfoy smiled. “Narcissa, my love —”

“If you loved me you wouldn’t be here right now. You wouldn’t ask what I know you’re about to —”

“I ask because I know you love me too,” he pleaded. “It’s only temporary. Until I can contact some old friends —”

“You have no more of those —”

“I can’t tell you their names for your own safety —”

“No, no.” His son, Draco, shook his head. “I think our safety pretty much went out the window the moment you set foot near us.”

“Then call the aurors.” Lucius put his hands up. “That’s what law-abiding wizards do when they don’t feel safe, isn’t it? Call them and see if they believe that neither of you helped me escape before chickening out —”

“You’re losing your touch, old man.” Draco snarled. “You’re not goading Gryffindors anymore.” 

“He has a point, Draco.” Narcissa pursed her lips. “They won’t believe us —”

“Well, he can’t stay —”

“— for more than forty-eight hours,” she finished. “If he does, I’ll kill him myself and make it look like an accident.”

“Why can’t we just skip ahead to that part?” Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“Because we are family,” said Narcissa. “Despite everything else that we are, we must always have that.”

“You mean it is because we are family that we are everything else that we a—”

“I will take no more of your cheek, Draco Lucius Malfoy. Take down your wards.”

“Mother, please listen to me —”

“Take. Them. Down.”

“Fuck Merlin,” he muttered and let his father in. 

*****

Hermione’s eyes opened at the sound of her alarm. She meant to sit up and turn it off, but instead, she rolled onto the floor with a hard thud. 

The damned clock was still ringing.

“Enoim, thgirla?” Ron meant to roll left towards her side of the bed, but instead, he went right and fell onto the floor as well.

Hermione meant to move her right leg to stand, but her left jolted instead, hitting the bottom of the bed frame. She’d meant to say “ow” but it came out sounding like, “Wow.”

What Ron said next came out all garbled too, but it was probably for the best, because it was about what a fun night they’d had and Hermione was _not_ in the mood. 

Halfway around the world, Ginny was in the middle of the match that would decide whether the Harpies made it to the World Cup. Everyone started flying backwards.

“Shit, shit, shit!” She tried to signal for her captain to call a timeout, but every time Jones tried to speak, it came out backwards.

“Tuo emit! Tuo emit!” Eventually, she figured out that if she meant to say it backwards, she’d end up saying it correctly. “Time out!”

Their opponents, the Japanese National Team, were in the lead and wanted to end the game due to the extraordinary circumstances. 

“On! No!” cried Ginny. More slowly, since she had to make herself intend to say it backwards, she said, “We… play. The rules state… ‘until the snitch is caught’… if the game… ends by natural or unnatural phenomenon… call a draw, Referee.”

The beater of the opposing team meant to advance on her menacingly, instead he took a step backwards, tripped over his robes, and fell on his bat. 

Meanwhile, Harry and Jeremia jogged up the steps from the Underground. It was too dangerous to apparate when everything you did could turn out to be the opposite of what you’d intended. However, the two capable operatives had managed to get the hang of speaking (the key was being good at spelling and then to start thinking in syllables, not words) and moving backwards in order to move forwards. 

“Well, at least the Muggles are just as confused as we are,” Jeremia grumbled as several people bumped into her on jerky legs. 

Harry muttered a small diagnostic spell that would hopefully be missed amidst the chaos of Muggle London. “The source is the Big Ben.”

“Of course it is.” Jeremia looked down at her ticket book. There was a message from Christi when Muggle Liaison. Funnily enough, reading something written backwards on a literal opposite day, made you speak it correctly. “The PM wants to know when we will resolve this mess. Either that or he wants us to buy the queen a new dress. He hasn’t figured out backwards speech yet. I hope he has to give a public address before this is all over.”

Harry laughed and didn’t even bother sobering up when Jeremia shot him a death glare. 

They were on their way to the bank of the Thames when someone shot out of a chimney.

“Mutnemom Otserra — Kcuf!” 

“ _Arresto Momentum!_ ” Harry caught the wizard before he made a pancake of himself in the middle of the busy street. 

“Look out!” Jeremia pushed him out of the way as a car careened off the street in an attempt to turn the corner. (The driver had turned left instead of right.)

Harry sent a patronus to Percy to shut down Transportation until further notice and to get Christi to tell the damn prime minister to do the same. 

“The Obliviators are never gonna get here in time,” said Jeremia. “I’ll do it myself. Go on, Potter. Put an end to this already.”

Harry nodded and sent another patronus to Bill and Fleur, asking them to meet him at Big Ben.

Back in Ottery St. Catchpole, Ron and Hermione were just stumbling out of the flat. They’d gotten the hang of speech (Ron still cursed backwards and Hermione kept missing out on blended consonants), but not movement. 

Hermione looked up and down the narrow neighborhood street. “Oh my —”

“Can you imagine if they had flying cars like Dad?” Ron was itching to just start _Reparo_ -ing everything. 

“We’d better not try to apparate.”

“Good idea. I’m out of floo powder.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Of course, you are.”

“It’s no big deal. Mum will have some.” 

“I have a hearing today!”

“I’m pretty sure they’ve postponed it.”

“Pretty sure isn’t sure enough!”

“It is _literally_ Opposite Day! Can we just not be the couple that goes at each other’s throat the second shit hits the fan for _once?_ ”

They walked to the Burrow in stony silence. 

In Japan, Ginny was flying literal circles around her opponents, mostly because she kept getting her lefts and rights confused while also going backward, but the important thing was, she had the quaffle. 

Eventually, she got the hang of it and flew right up to a goal post before tossing it through. Belatedly, the opposing keeper smacked straight into her and the referee called a penalty shot for the Harpies. 

Taking her time to think backwards through what she wanted her body to do, Ginny scored again. 

Then, probably because it was the day of opposites, Romilda, who was subbing for an injured Williams, managed to do her job as seeker and catch the snitch. 

At the top of the Big Ben, which was ticking backwards, Harry met Bill, Fleur, George, and Angelina.

“It’s hardly a sophisticated bit of magic,” Bill explained.

“But it’s very dangerous,” Fleur cautioned, “especially since we get the opposite of everything we do now.”

“I’ve offered to just disintegrate Ben and be done with it,” said George, gesturing at a crate full of glass bottles containing bright pink liquid that smelled like the stomach acid of a creature that could digest _anything_. “But apparently that’s bad for Muggle relations.”

“So instead, we’re going to disintegrate it bit by bit and just conjure up replacement structures as we go,” said Angelina. 

“But how was this done in the first place?” asked Harry. 

“Can I explain when I don’t have to say words like, ‘antenebritique,’ backwards?” Fleur handed him a broom. 

Harry took it. “Right. Sure.” 

“One drop of acid —” George demonstrated on a floorboard, which promptly turned to smoky pink vapor. Sections of its neighbors also disintegrated. “— Then just fill the hole. Quickly, mind.”

At the Burrow, Ron and Hermione were disappointed to find that the floo network was down. 

“See!” exalted Ron. “We couldn’t have used the floo powder if I’d had any!”

“That’s besides the point,” Hermione sniffed.

She switched on the wireless. Lee Jordan had all the latest: 

Harpies won against the Japanese National team, 270 to 260, and were going to the World Cup this year. The Muggle Prime Minister just gave a public address that was supposed to ask people to go home and stay inside, but he might have just invited everyone to 10 Downing Street for a play date. Also, five Ministry of Magic officials, including the Boy Who Lived, were flying brooms around the Big Ben in a pink vapor cloud.

“They’re halfway up the clock now and Big Ben is ticking back and forth between ten and eleven in the morning…” said Lee. “Is it really only ten or eleven in the morning? This day has gone on long enough as it is, thank you very much!”

“Tell me about it.” Ron slumped backward into the couch. Then he shot up. “Come on, Mione. It’s going to take the Muggles ages to fix everything once we’re back to normal and you know they’ll start with London. It’ll take days for them to reach Catchpole.”

“Ron, we can’t,” she sighed. “The statute —”

“Harry loaned me his invisibility cloak for a stakeout.” Ron held the front door open behind him for her to follow. “It’s still at my place.”

Hermione blinked. “Brilliant. That’s… Brilliant.”

At the Harpies’ lodgings in Japan, Ginny slipped into her room unnoticed while the reporters swarmed Romilda, congratulating her on her ‘historic’ play. 

She tried not to be bitter or jealous. It was all in the team, wasn’t it? 

Still, she wished she could send a patronus to Harry, but she’d heard on the wireless that he was otherwise occupied. 

She didn’t want to talk to her mum, who would simply tell her, with the best of intentions, “When I was a girl, I wanted to be a beater for the Chudley Cannons with your father, Merlin knows they need all the help they can get. We had all these grand plans, but there was a war going on, and then we were too old to play professionally. You’re very fortunate, Ginny, very fortunate. Don’t lose sight of that.”

And Ginny _definitely_ did not want to talk to her brothers, who would say pretty much the same thing, except perhaps Percy, who would just tell her to quit.

She could clearly hear Romilda speaking to the reporters downstairs, “It was a team effort certainly. I was just glad to be a part of it. I’ve always believed in myself, you know, but I hope that after this, other people will start believing in me too. Because I’m done sitting on the sidelines when I know I can be great.”

Over the wireless, she heard that Opposite Day was over, the Chosen One had saved their arses again. Ginny couldn’t wait to tease him about it.

Her floo chimed and the unusual clock above the mantle, not unlike her mum’s at home, showed that whoever it was, was flooing in from the Japanese Ministry. 

Ginny leaned into the fire. “Who is it?” 

“It’s Harry,” said a disembodied voice. 

Ginny pulled her head out of the flames and _Scourgified_ herself quickly so she didn’t smell like Quidditch. Then she pulled the poker (it was really a lever) to let him through.

“Hey!” He scooped her up into a big hug. “I heard about the match from Ron. Congratulations, you’re going to the World Cup!”

“Thanks,” she mumbled, smiling slightly into his shoulder.

Harry put her down. “You alright?” 

“Yeah. Just a little disoriented from doing everything backwards, I guess.” 

Her boyfriend frowned. “It was Opposite Day here too?” 

“Should it not have been?” 

“The source was all the way at Big Ben.”

“Bad guys always go for the scenic route, don’t they?” 

Harry chuckled. “I can’t believe you won a match flying _backwards_.”

“No one else will either.” Ginny finally got around to unlacing her boots and her feet thanked her for it. “Romilda Vane is still talking to reporters downstairs.”

“What happened to Williams?”

“Got into a bar fight with her brother for hitting on her girlfriend. Got a concussion. Who was the saboteur?”

“Dunno yet. Ron’s out looking with the Aurors. It’s rather nice to let it be someone else’s problem for once and just come and see you. Did you get your broom checked after the match? What were its stats?” 

“I’ll get it tuned-up before I head back out again, like I always do —”

“I was thinking of getting you a new one. For your birthday.”

“People usually like to keep presents a surprise, you know,” Ginny deadpanned.

“I’m just letting you know so that if Jones decides to buy one for you, I still have time to get something else.”

“You’ve been spending too much time with Hermione.”

“I mean, I could just snog you senseless like you do me every year, but I kinda want to be original at least.”

“Oh, I certainly hope I get a lot more than a _snog_ for my birthday, Potter,” she purred, perching herself on his lap. 

Harry’s eyes went glassy like he’d just been _Confunded_. “You look so hot in your Quidditch robes.”

“But…?” Ginny prompted him.

Now he was really confused. “But what? But nothing! You’re bloody gorgeous!”

Ginny rolled her eyes, stood, and dropped her robes at her feet. “Do I look hotter now?”

Harry nodded dumbly. 

She grinned sinfully. “Show me how you treat a winner, Potter.”

*****

“Did you hear?”

“— Azkaban —”

“— escape —”

“— Lucius Malfoy —”

“— should’ve given him the Kiss when they had the chance.”

On one of their rare, synchronous days off, Hermione and Ron were chaperoning the Elezras, who had their second-year shopping in Diagon Alley, which was alive with gossip and repairs. 

They got replacement wands with Ollivanders’ new warranty, got their books and potion ingredients (Thank Merlin for Gringotts student loans), but Merina drew the line at brooms. 

Still, Ron slipped Caverin four sickles to buy ice cream Fortescue’s when his sister wasn’t looking. 

“Where’d you get the money?” She narrowed her eyes at him, willing herself not to be tempted by the delectable, sweet cone.

“They were having a promotion. Twins get free ice cream today.” He spewed out a bunch of divination nonsense about Gemini.

Merina took the second ice cream cone just to shut him up, and because it was melting.

“Can we go to the menagerie?” asked Caverin.

“Sure, go ahead,” said Hermione. “We’ll meet you back at Leaky in an hour?”

The twins nodded and ran off.

“There was no promotion for twins at Fortescues, was there?” Hermione looped her arm through Ron’s.

“Nope,” he laughed.

“That was really nice of you. To find a way to give them that.”

Ron blushed. “‘S’nothing.”

Just then, a brown-haired boy, who looked about seventeen, came up to Ron and Hermione. “I can’t believe I’m meeting two out of three of the Golden Trio! This is the best day of my life! Will you sign my chocolate frog cards, please?” 

“Dennis, you’ve known us for, what? Seven years now?” Ron signed the boy’s card anyway, as did Hermione.

Dennis grinned cheekily as he multiplied the signed cards. “And now I’ll be at least seven galleons richer before today is over. Thanks, you two!”

Hermione pursed her lips in disapproval as the boy walked away offering a signed chocolate frog card for a sickle.

“Oh, come on, Mione.” Ron nudged her shoulder. “The lad’s enterprising. You’ve got to give him that.”

“We shouldn’t be glorifying war this way.”

“You liked it when the put the memorial up in Hogsmeade —”

“We were honouring _people_ . Those who didn’t get chocolate frog cards. Their _lives_ —” 

“So if it’s really the chocolate frog card people you’re upset with, sue Honeydukes. Don’t take it out on Creevey. He knows what war does. He lost his brother, didn’t he?”

“Exactly! He lost his brother! And now he’s turning us into collectibles, ready to inspire other brothers to fight other people’s battles and die for them.” 

They were still walking side by side, but there was an invisible wall between them now. 

Over the years, they had learned how to disagree, but that had been as friends, as friends with a common friend with bigger problems than who did or didn’t do their homework, who did or didn’t say what they really meant, who did or didn’t leave the toilet seat up in the tent they’d called home when they were on the run. 

Deciding to be each other’s Person had been a step in the right direction, they were both certain. But they still had to learn how to be that _and_ disagree at the same time. 

For now, Hermione stepped closer to Ron and brushed some non-existent lint off his shoulder. When her hand dropped down to her side, their knuckles brushed. Ron held the door of the Leaky Cauldron open for her. They sat on the same side of the booth.

Hermione ducked her head, blinking rapidly to keep from crying. “I know I’ve been advocating for reconciliation since the beginning… with Harry… but…”

“Then Lucius Malfoy breaks out of Azkaban and makes you question whether people like him really deserve a second chance,” Ron finished.

“Yeah.”

“Well, that’s where your prison reform project comes in,” he reminded her.

Hermione set her jaw determinedly. “Right.”

“One fight at a time, though, yeah?” Ron’s eyes were sparkling. “First, we need to find something edible on this menu.”

The corner of Hermione’s mouth twitched. “Following our guts, are we?”

Ron smirked. “Exactly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> right, gonna disappear into another irl abyss for like 3 weeks, see y'all on the other side of the holidays!


End file.
